


Burning Down

by carteblanchhe



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Sex, Lots of Angst!, M/M, Major Character Injuries and Death (C'mon it's the Quarter Quell!), Romance too!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-24 15:36:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 169,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carteblanchhe/pseuds/carteblanchhe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SEQUEL TO MOMENTS OF CHANGE. </p><p>After Peeta's rebellious actions in the 74th Hunger Games he faces the terrible wrath of the Capitol. While struggling to keep his love with Cato alive he must face his own role in a burgeoning rebellion and new threats at every turn only to be thrust back in to the games for the 3rd Quarter Quell. But all is not as it seems. This is the last stand for Panem and Peeta Mellark, the boy on fire. Who will survive? How will it end?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Long Winter

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Moments of Change. Reading the first one will probably help you understand this story better.
> 
> Otherwise here is my first chapter for a sequel. I have already been posting this on FF.net, but I'm going to keep it going over here too. So please leave a review if you enjoy and want me to keep writing/posting. Also This will be the only sequel to Moments of Change so this is it, anything could happen.
> 
> Obligatory Warnings: Slash, Mature Sexual Themes, Language, Violence, and Death.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing Hunger Games related. Except the characters I created from my crazy mind.
> 
> Previously in Moments of Change: Peeta volunteered for the Hunger Games in place of a young boy. He did it as a desperate means of escape from his meaningless life at home, suicide by Hunger Games, but also because of a defiant streak that begins to rear its head through out the games and turn him into the boy on fire, a symbol of hope for the oppressed districts of Panem. He befriends his fellow tribute Katniss and falls in love with the career from 2, Cato, who is nothing like the monstrous careers that come from his district. Once in the games he learns to embrace his rebellious nature while working to save both Katniss and Cato. Unfortunately Stasson, the career from 4, teams up with Clove when it is learned pairs can win this year (due to the audiences reaction to Cato and Peeta's onscreen romance) and they set a trap that kills Rue and Katniss. Peeta sings the rebels song The Hanging Tree as Katniss dies in his arms and reveals his defiant nature to all of Panem. In the finale of the Games Peeta and Cato over power and kill Stasson, only to have the rule of two victors revoked. Peeta wont allow the Capitol to win and knowing he can't live with out Cato they take nightlock. The rules are changed at the last minute and Cato does not eat the berries. But Peeta does, because he did not hear the announcement due to being in the midst of cardiogenic shock from all the damage he sustained from Stasson and he ends up in a five day coma. Awakening miraculously he is reunited with Cato and knows they can face anything the future may hold as long as they are together, even if he has invoked the wrath of the Capitol for his actions in the Games.

Burning Down

**PART ONE: The Fire Begins**

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings."- Anaïs Nin

* * *

Ch1. The Long Winter

_Cato Ryves is the man of my dreams and together I know we can make it through anything._

Winter had descended upon District 12 and blanketed everything in a fine white dusting of snow. It was as if the world were reborn over night into a wonderland in the clouds. But the purity of the snow never lasted long as the black soot from the coalmines tainted the soft white flakes. Nothing ever lasted. The Games had taught Peeta that. Life was fragile and precious and pure, but easily trampled and corrupted and all too often cut violently short.

District 12 was a downtrodden and poor place filled with the misery and suffering of starving souls who wondered through life aimlessly, often working long and grueling hours just so they could scrape together enough to feed their starving bodies, only to have to repeat the process the very next day. Rest never came. Peeta had witnessed many poor citizens of 12 starve to death even when they were employed. He had seen mothers sell their bodies to the Peacekeepers for a little extra cash to feed or clothe their children, especially during the winter months. He had seen first hand the desperation of a society so crushed by their oppressors they had lost their spark, that light behind the eyes that signified a thirst for life and happiness and love. Peeta had almost been to that point himself. His mother abused him, his brothers bullied him and his father ignored him. He had given up on finding friendship, too scared to let others in and learn the truth, that he was gay in a district that didn't, couldn't allow such a thing. They needed to continue reproducing so the mines could be worked and the Capitol appeased.

But now he saw his home district in a different light. There was a current running through it, an energy that he hadn't quite identified yet, but that he was sure had not been there before he volunteered for the Hunger Games. It was finally possible that Peeta had not only given himself the jolt he needed to continue fighting for his life when he entered that arena, but he had given his home district, and maybe some of the others, the symbol of hope (and defiance?) they needed. Now they were reawakened from the foul trance like state they had existed in as the Capitol took what it wanted, their resources, their children, and their lives.

Of course nothing went unpunished by the Capitol. If someone tried to defy its rule, even in the subtlest of ways, they were struck down and ground out until nothing was left of them but the fading memory in ones mind. Many whispered in District 12 how the Hanging Tree was sung by a few in the mines who wished to start an uprising by finding and signaling to those sympathetic to their cause. When the Capitol had caught on they caused a 'mining accident' that killed most involved and then made it a criminal offense to sing the song. Peeta, by using that song in the Games and taking the nightlock, was blatantly defying the Capitol and its Gamemakers while also aligning himself with any anti-Capitol factions that may have existed. Punishment was inevitable.

Peeta was trudging his way back through the snowy field to the 'electrified' fencing that enclosed District 12. When he reached the 12-foot high enclosure with barbed wired lacing the top he quickly scanned the interior for any prying eyes. Mainly for Peacekeepers, he couldn't afford to be caught outside the district now that he was a victor. Yet he often found himself outside the bounds of where most were permitted. He never thought of himself as an instigator, but more and more frequently he found himself crossing strict lines established by the Capitol. After awakening in the medical facilities of the Capitol from his coma Haymitch had warned him of the dangers that now lurked around him because of his actions. Snow had even promised to be watching. Peeta could never have envisioned leaving the 74th Annual Hunger Games alive and so he never thought of the consequences his actions would create during it. Now he was facing one of the worst punishments the Capitol could inflict on him with out openly harming him and inciting an uprising among his many supporters.

Peeta slipped under the weakened section of the fence that allowed one to peel it back and create a space big enough for someone to crawl under. He got soot-laced snow on his coat and the knees of his jeans were stained with freezing snow slush. He stood and hugged his arms around his chest as he headed towards the Seam. The sun was hidden behind a curtain of thick grey clouds and would be setting with in the next hour. He wanted to drop by the Everdeen's before he returned to his home in the Victors Village and spent the evening with Cato.

In the months since Peeta had returned from the Games he had kept his promise to Katniss. He shared his winnings with her family so they could afford food through the winter from the butchers shop and new clothes to stay warm. He had also developed a strong bond with Primrose. When he had first returned to District 12 he was hesitant to even approach the Everdeens. He feared what their reaction would be to seeing him. Would they hate him for being the tribute from 12 that returned? Or would seeing him be too painful, a terrible reminder of the loved one they lost?

Fortunately he did not have to wait long for the answer because the very first morning back in his large and empty victors home he had a visitor. It was Prim. She had brought him milk from her goat, Lady. She had wanted to thank him for everything he did, trying to protect and save Katniss. For being with her as she passed on. She broke down in his arms, revealing how she had to be the strong one now, for her mother, whom she was afraid would completely break if Prim showed her weaknesses. Peeta just held her and promised everything would be okay. He would look out for her from that moment on. And he did. He tried to visit her at least once a day and she repaid him in her goat's milk. Luckily Mrs. Everdeen kept it together and even came out of her shell with Peeta's warming presence in their home.

Now that it was winter, Mrs. Everdeen also had a lot more work to keep her busy. With the harsh cold she often had to treat patients for frostbite, children who got sick from the cold, and those suffering from starvation (there were always more in the winter) on top of her usual patients from the mines with injuries or black lung. Peeta used his winnings to help keep her medicine pantry stocked and feed the starving kids to the best of his ability with out depleting his own resources for himself and the Everdeens.

Walking through the Seam was always an interesting affair for Peeta. He was not used to being the center of attention and when he came here he felt like some piece of art on display. He was an abstract painting that people would gawk at as if they stared long enough they might decipher him. He figured half of the stares were because they had never seen a gay person before, the other half because they were awestruck over seeing the victor from the Hunger Games who defied the Capitol, on top of the fact that he was from their very own district.

Little kids, some who would beg for food with their dirty hands and ragged clothes that did nothing to keep them warm, often hugged him. Other times he would get a simple nod of the head to show respect or appreciation for what he did in the games. A few times elderly people on their porches yelled at him in disapproval of his open displays of homosexuality during the games. But most seemed to accept his sexuality and a change seemed to be occurring on that front.

Like today, as he neared the Everdeens dilapidated house, a young, slightly overweight woman carrying two pales of water to her house just about spilled everything at the sight of him. She was attractive, with rosy cheeks and soft brown hair that fell neatly around her face, despite the dirt and grime that covered her clothes.

"P-Peeta Mellark!" She cried.

He smiled at her kindly.  _So she's going to be one of those people, the ones who get overly excited at my appearance and lose their composure._

After settling her pales on the icy dirt road she ran to him and gripped both of his hands in hers tightly as she stared him in the eyes with tears. He was completely caught off guard by her display, but quickly regained his composure.

"Thank you, thank you." She repeated as she shook his hands and then let go.

"Whoa there. I didn't do anything worthy of thanks," He said uncomfortably. Because really he hadn't. He had killed in the games, just like everybody else and that was not something to be revered or congratulated in his mind.

She shook her head. "Oh, but you have. After you came out in the Games and everyone watched you fall in love and fight for it, you changed minds. I finally had the courage to come out to my mother and she accepted me, it took a bit, but she realized how hypocritical she was being if she could support you and not me. It's all because of you!" She sobbed lightly at the end.

Peeta was thrown for a loop again, he had never thought of what his actions as an openly gay man in the Games could have been, but it seemed he had changed minds on that front too. District 12 had never really dealt with the topic before. It was a remarkable feeling and something he could actually feel proud about.

"That is amazing. I'm very happy for you," Peeta replied genuinely.

She smiled brightly and skipped back to her buckets, lifting them up with her thick arms, and then turning back to him. "Thank you, Peeta. You have my support in anything you do." Then she continued on her path home leaving Peeta to contemplate what she had just told him.

He continued to have the same struggle in his mind daily since he awoke from his coma. He had already accepted his defiance in the game as a moot point. There was nothing he could do about it now. The damage was done. But he was now faced with the choice of holding on to that mantle as a symbol of change for Panem or dropping it and disavowing any rebellious behavior. Every time he thought of it he was thrown into an inner turmoil. If he continued to defy the Capitol he would only further endanger Cato, his loved ones and even his family. But then people like her would tell him how much of a difference he had already made and that voice in his head would begin harassing him,  _you're not going to just bow down to the Capitol like that? You're a fucking Victor and you defied the rules of the game! You have the chance to burn down everything the Capitol has fouled._

Peeta took a deep cleansing breath and felt the icy chill deep in his chest. He then expelled the air from his lungs in a visible puff of air and moved on to the Everdeens. He puffed warm air into his cupped palms, trying to stay warm, while the dampened spots on his pants from when he crawled through the snow froze his kneecaps. When he reached their house he could see they had a fire made with the extra wood he had bought for them this past weekend. He knew he would have to do more for them, as there were holes in the roof and cracks in the siding that exposed them to the harsh elements year round. He had to jump the steps to their small landing in front of the door because termites had made the wood unstable and he had already plunged his foot into one of the steps once before.

When Peeta tried to knock on the door it swung open for him and Prim slammed into his body.

"Peeta!"

Peeta smiled at Mrs. Everdeen through the doorway as he squeezed Prim. She was growing and the top of her head reached just under his chin. Her hair was braided into pigtails as usual, which gave her that small childlike look, although they had over a month ago celebrated her 13th birthday. She was a beginning her teenage years and Peeta felt an ache in his heart knowing Katniss would never get to witness her grow into the powerful and smart girl Peeta knew she would become.

"Prim, how are you today?"

She let go and finally allowed him to cross the threshold and into the warmth of the fire heated air. Her fat and ugly cat Buttercup hissed at Peeta in greeting. That cat hated anyone that got near its Primrose. Peeta just rolled his eyes at the animal as he rubbed his chest lightly from where Prim's head had slammed into him and greeted Mrs. Everdeen.

"Peeta, is your heart giving you problems?" She asked with worry evident in her eyes.

Prim's own eyes widened in concern too as she looked at Peeta. "I'm so sorry! Did I break your pace thingy?"

"My pacemaker is fine, do not worry! The Capitol would not have let me leave the hospital if there was a problem with it," Peeta said as he shook his head vigorously at Prim and then pulled her in and ruffled her hair. "You know I'm a tough cookie. Nightlock can't even kill me."

The Everdeens both looked appeased by his words and let the subject go. Peeta had learned before he left the Capitol that due to his heart problems from the games they had to install a pacemaker to ensure that it beat properly. He knew there was nothing wrong with it, but sometimes when he was jolted, like by Prim's hug, he was reminded of its presence and the weakness of his own heart, causing him to rub over the spot absentmindedly. It truly didn't bother him physically; it just taunted him emotionally, reminding him of how his body had failed him.

"So Peeta, would you like to join us for dinner?" Mrs. Everdeen asked.

Prim bounced on the heels of her feet. "Oh please, yes!"

"I would love to, but I can't miss Cato," Peeta said regretfully.

Prim's smile fell from her face. She hated what the Capitol was doing to them more than anything else. Peeta loved how fiercely protective she had become of him in return. "I still just can't believe they did that to you guys! You're too perfect together. I want a love like that one day."

Mrs. Everdeen went back to the small stove to stir something in a bubbling pot. She always got awkward around the mention of Cato. Peeta was sure she supported him, but it was probably just a lot more than she was used to and he was not going to push anything on her. She needed to be there for Prim more than anything else, his love life and her approval of it were not necessary.

"I know. I hate it too, Prim." Peeta said with saddened eyes. "But you know what would make it better? If you two moved in with me at my home in Victors Village."

He had asked this before and the answer was always the same. But he desperately wanted to get them out of this house and the Seam. When he moved into the home his family did not follow. His mother had flat out refused to even see him upon his return. She felt his actions during the Games had seriously endangered the whole family and she would have nothing to do with her fag son. His brothers seemed upset by the whole thing, but he knew it was only because they were being denied the chance to have their own bedroom and live in the nicest part of District 12. Surprisingly his father had tried reaching out to him since his return. Peeta wondered if perhaps his entering the Hunger Games had woke up his father from the indifference he had settled into and maybe, slowly, one day they could have an actual relationship. But for now he was keeping his walls up.

Prim looked downcast now as her mother answered the usual. They couldn't possibly impose like that. He was already doing enough for them. They were fine here and it was not as bad as it seemed. He knew that in truth it was awful, everyday had been a struggle in this household since Mr. Everdeen had passed and now with Katniss gone the small place was becoming crowded with the ghosts of their loved ones.

"Well you always know my door is open," Peeta said.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door and then it opened to reveal Gale Hawthorne. He had been about to step into the home when he spotted Peeta and the smile on his face immediately fell to be replaced by sharp frown lines. He dark brooding eyes always held so much pain and anger whenever he saw Peeta. His light brown hair was tousled on top of his head from the hands he ran through it habitually. He stood tall in the doorway probably close to Cato's height, but less muscular. He was built, but more in a lithe athletic way, from his years of hunting and running in the woods.

"Gale!" Prim exclaimed at the sight of him.

He looked back at her quickly and then nodded a hello to Mrs. Everdeen. "Hey Prim. Um, I was just coming by to drop off a turkey I killed in the woods today." He dropped the dead animal out on the landing for them. "I wanted to bring something by before I started work in the mines. I'll see ya," He said and then swiftly turned and left.

Peeta bit his bottom lip and looked at Prim. Her face fell as he left. She loved Gale too and Peeta knew the only reason Gale was not hanging around longer was because of him. Ever since he had returned from the Games alive and not Katniss Gale had been indifferent at best to him. While the Everdeen's may not have hated him for returning alive Gale sure seemed to blame him for Katniss' death. Peeta decided on the spot to follow him and try to civilize their relationship. They both obviously wanted to continue being a part of Prim's life and this bad blood could not continue.

"I've got to go Prim. I'll see you tomorrow. Bye Mrs. Everdeen!" He shouted as he exited.

Gale was already a good distance from the house and walking with elongated steps in the opposite direction of Peeta. He ran to catch up to him.

"Gale!" Peeta called to him.

Gale's body went rigid at the sound of Peeta's voice and then he turned to glare at Peeta with harsh blue eyes. "What do you want?"

Peeta finally reached Gale on the dirt path; he had to be careful not to slip on the ice or snow as he ran. The sun was beginning to fall behind the mountains and dusk was settling over the Seam. He didn't have much time. He had to get back to his home in the Victors Village for Cato.

"Look, I know you have your problems with me, but just because I am there does not mean Prim doesn't still love you," Peeta said trying to be kind and soothe any feelings that may have been hurt by his presence tonight. His breath frosted the air before him as the temperature plummeted with the setting sun.

"Thanks for the memo. Did you follow me to tell me that? Because I know Prim loves me. I've been a part of her life for the past four years. You think because you've given her some guilt money and shared a few meals with her these past few months you know her?" Gale huffed. His chest puffed outward, as he stood straight and towered over Peeta menacingly.

Peeta stepped back slightly, unprepared for the hostility thrown his way, but he held Gale's eyes defiantly. He was not going to bow down to his aggressive masculine posturing, but he couldn't deny his words stung. They struck a raw nerve.

"Fine, hate me if you want. But don't punish Prim. I'm trying my best to do what is right and I don't need your shit. You think you're suffering? Try a day in my shoes. I guarantee you it's not all the roses and sunshine you think it is."

Peeta then turned his back on Gale not wanting him to see how much he wished to cry at the moment. Peeta walked briskly towards the Victors Village section of District 12. It was about a ten-minute walk from the Seam and he wished to traverse it as quickly as possible as his mind sucked him back to his last day at the Capitol, the day after the interview, when he naively thought Cato and he would escape from the grips of the Gamemakers to live happily ever after in District 2.

They had been lounging in bed all day eating away at the hours by switching between stuffing themselves with the gourmet foods brought by their Avoxes and fucking and pleasuring each other. The interview had been particularly gruesome the night before as they were forced to watch clips from the games replayed back to them on the giant television screens so the audience could get their reactions. The Gamemakers obviously edited what happened with Katniss' death, but watching her die in his arms for a second time was no easier than the first. Cato's arm around his shoulder was the only thing that kept him sane.

But everything was perfect now. They had syrups in awkward crevices of their bodies from some experimental fun with food and sated looks in their eyes as they enjoyed each others love and company. But eventually it was time to get up and get cleaned. They had helped bathe each other in the large jet tub and Peeta became a little over excited as he rubbed his soapy hands all over Cato's well muscled body leading to another quick fuck before Lyme about broke down the door to get to them. They were going to miss their trains.

Trains. As in plural. More than one. Peeta's mind worked quickly to try and make sense of it, but he couldn't. He feared what the answer may be if he asked. So he kept quiet as they dried and clothed themselves before opening the door to Lyme and Haymitch But he couldn't stop Cato from asking the question on the tip of both their tongues.

"But Peeta's coming to District 2 with me, right?"

They both stood there before their mentors with apprehension rippling in their eyes. Peeta looked to Haymitch with concern etched across his face. He felt as if the air was slowly being sucked from the room. How could they have just been so blissfully happy and unaware a few minutes ago and now they found themselves facing the wrath of the Capitol? He was so stupid for letting his guard down.

Lyme pinched the bridge of her large nose. Haymitch swayed slightly, probably already inebriated, as he touched Lyme on the arm. She looked at him and he nodded.

"I've got this," His speech was lightly slurred, but understandable. He had kept his promise of sobriety during the games and was no longer beholden to it. Peeta found it disappointing he couldn't keep up his sobriety, but at the same time he now understood why he turned to the booze. The Games changed people. One could never look upon the world the same way again. Haymitch did not have the luxury of a Cato to keep him sane. "Boys, we told the Gamemakers of your wish to live together in 2, but… but they declined you. They wish you to go back to your separate districts. It is customary that the victor lives in their home district after winning and as 12 has only one living victor, myself, they stress upon you, Peeta that you return home and bring pride to your district."

It was as if the floor had dropped out from underneath Peeta. He had nothing left to hang on to anymore. The Gamemakers were stripping him of Cato. They had let them live, but not with out consequences and they were that each must live in separate districts.

_Cato Ryves is the man of my dreams and together I know we can make it through anything._

And yet now Peeta was being forced into a world where Cato would not be by his side.  _How will I make it with out him?_  Peeta turned to Cato, tears already moistening his eyes.

"Cato, I-I—what are we going to do?" He clung to Cato desperately, needing his touch as everything began to crumble again.

"It's going to be fine, Peeta, I promise—" He was cut short as Lyme interrupted.

"I'm sorry boys, but they're enforcing their will, now."

Haymitch and her were forced aside as four white uniformed Peacekeepers marched into their bedroom. Two for each victor. Each peacekeeper grabbed an arm and began forcing them out the door before they had one last kiss. Peeta tried to struggle against them, but they were too strong and his body was still too weak from the five-day coma.

"Cato, I'm so sorry! This is all my fault, for everything I did. They are punishing us," Peeta cried as he was forced down the hallway and away from Cato's beautiful face.

"No, Peeta! Nothing is your fault. We will be together, no matter what. Get your fucking hands off me!" Cato raged against the Peacekeepers that held him back while Peeta was escorted to the elevator. They were not even going to let them say good-bye or even go to the train station together. Their time together was over. They would only be together when the Capitol allowed it from now on.

"Cato! CATO! Don't fight them! You'll only cause more trouble. I love you, I LOVE YOU CATO!" Peeta cried desperately. His face was wild and frenzied as he struggled against his captors. He held Cato's chocolate eyes in his own, willing him to not hurt the peacekeepers. To not do anything that might in turn endanger his safety. Then the doors of the elevator were shut on him as the Peacekeepers held him back with both arms and those loving eyes, those beautiful lips, that soft blonde hair was severed from his view.

That was the last time Peeta saw Cato. It had been roughly three months since the Games had ended and he had been forcibly returned to District 12. Everyday was a struggle as the love in his heart began to fracture and scar from the distance forced between them. All they had were these daily telephone conversations, which were never enough. Hearing Cato's voice only picked at the scabs and increased the longing he felt for his lover. What was worse was not only was the Capitol trying to punish them by forcing such a huge distance between them, but there was also a time difference he had never known existed between their districts. When it was six o'clock here it was nine o'clock there, wherever there happened to be located, creating an added layer of difficulty in trying to stay in touch.

And so now all they had were these phone calls, scheduled for the evening when they would both be free. If he missed it he may not get to hear Cato's loving voice for another twenty-four hours. Peeta picked up the pace as he moved his way through the merchant district of 12. He skipped the roundabout path that would keep him from passing by the bakery because he needed to get back in time.

"Peeta?"

He continued half-jogging to the Victors Village, ignoring the call.

"Peeta!"

A voice he did not recognize called out his name more forcefully from behind him this time. His footstep faltered as he turned to face whomever called his name. He did not want to stop, but the man that was calling him obviously wanted his attention and so he best give it.

"Yes? I'm kind of in a hurry," Peeta stated.

The man stepped out from the freshly darkened night in a crisp white Peacekeepers uniform and his heart wavered a beat.  _What did he want?_  Peeta racked his brain for the man's name. He knew he had seen his face before. It was a harsh face, with sharp lines and scrutinizing eyes. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and had a light black beard.

"I'm sorry to bother you. My name's Darius. I was just hoping I could have a moment of your time," He asked simply.

Peeta's feet tapped impatiently, wishing to resume their journey home. But he felt obliged to stay as Darius was a Peacekeeper and it was best not to ignore him, even if most of the Peacekeepers in 12 had never been too awful to their citizens.

"Uh, okay…"

"Well you see ever since you became the face of gay rights in 12 I've been meaning to talk to you." He stepped closer.

This surprised Peeta. He was the face of gay rights in his district? He guessed it made sense, but it was not something he had actively sought out.

"Oh, really?" Peeta asked.

"Yes, there have been others in the community trying to put together a group. One that would be able to help improve the state of affairs for others in 12 who are gay, but not so supported by their families or friends and I think it would be great if you could come to one of our meetings and speak. The boy on fire would be just the thing some of our members need," He explained, now bordering on a complete invasion of Peeta's space. He was quite pushy and Peeta wasn't sure of this Darius character. He didn't like how he was a Peacekeeper, so he gave a politicians answer.

"What a great idea. How about you get back to me on the specifics and I will let you know?" Peeta said as he stepped back and began to head hesitantly back towards his home.

"Oh, yes, of course. Thank you." Darius then gave a crooked smile and wondered back to where he came from.

Peeta took off at a full sprint for his home. As he turned onto the Victors Row he skidded atop an unexpected icy patch and fell on his ass. He could here the phone ringing out in the silence of the night and knew it was his. There were only three people in all of District 12 with phones. Haymitch, the Mayor and himself. He cursed furiously. He couldn't miss Cato. He had been looking forward to this call all day. He looked forward to them everyday. It was his one respite from the suffering and loneliness.

He pulled himself up and ran to his front door flinging it open and failing to throw it closed behind him as he raced to the kitchen. Just as his fingers wrapped around the receiver of his telephone the shrill ringing ended and took with it his breath.

They really weren't allowed to call outside their district. But since Cato was from 2 it was just another privilege of being from a favored district and so only he could make the call. Peeta beat his head against the wall in fury, completely distraught over having missed Cato's call. When would this end? Would they ever be allowed together? Or would the only times they'd be allowed together outside of the upcoming Victory Tour be if they both mentored tributes in the Capitol for the Hunger Games? The Gamemakers had really found the best punishment for his rebellion in the games. They didn't have to inflict any physical pain on him, just separate him from the man he loved. He felt as if he were choking on the smoke of an approaching fire, if the smoke didn't suffocate and kill him the fire burning in his tormented veins would surely burn him to death.

The phone sounded with its shrill bells and caused Peeta to jump about a foot in the air. He fumbled with his suddenly sweaty palms as he tried to grasp the receiver and put it too his ear.

"Cato potato?" He answered meekly and then held his breath, waiting for the response. His heart just about stopped regardless of the pacemaker's efforts to keep it pulsing.

"Hey babe. I thought I had missed you," Cato's voice replied softly in his ear and the pacemaker in Peeta's heart was finally allowed to jolt his organ into beating again because all was right in the world. Well mostly.

 _Cato Ryves is the man of my dreams and together I know we can make it through anything. But we are not together anymore._   _Countless unknown miles separate us._ They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but distance is also an insidious parasite that grows discontent. Absence really makes the heart grow wearier, desperate for an end to the pain.


	2. When Your Best Isn't Good Enought

Ch. 2- When Your Best Isn't Good Enough

Peeta found himself restless in the large and empty house in Victors Village. With only one person living in a five-bedroom home the emptiness of it all created a foreboding atmosphere like an added layer of gravity that tried to wear him down and drive him from the house. But this was his home now and he could not go back to the small apartment above the bakery where his family still lived. The last time he was there his mother had slapped him in the face and accused him of trying to get the family killed. She selfishly believed everything he did since volunteering as tribute was just to spite her and jeopardize the lives of his family members. He brought a hand to the cheek as if all these months later it still smarted from his mothers calloused hand.

Flipping through the channels of his television Peeta found nothing of interest was on as usual. There was a news report on one channel about the destroyed District 13 that he changed from, it was always the same information, still toxic and uninhabitable, nothing of interest there. Then he found himself on a channel that was airing a rerun of the 74th Hunger Games. He froze as the jagged face of the giant tribute from 4 was fully displayed on the screen. Stasson's black eyes were like thick tar pits that trapped Peeta in all his hateful emotions, his fury and his lust for blood. The mere sight of him caused Peeta's skin to blossom with goose bumps like a piece of water-warped parchment. It were as if Stasson was in the room with him and his heartbeat became strained, cowering behind his ribcage like it could sense Stasson was near and ready to finish what he had started. The crushing blows of Stasson's hammer had already left his organ permanently scarred and reliant on Capitol technology to keep it beating, it was not capable of taking more of Stasson's punishment. Peeta switched the television off and flung the remote from his hand as if scalded. He did not need to see anymore, he had lived it. That had been his life only a few months ago and the terror of it still lived inside his skin like an illness eating away at his sanity.  _I'll never feel safe again, will I?_

He walked to the kitchen needing a glass of water to calm his racecar heart. His footsteps echoed through the house and he shook his head in disbelief. The house was so large there was an echo. He had so much he wasn't used to like clean drinking water on tap and an icemaker in the fridge. Which he never used. He couldn't stand his water to be ice cold, it was unnatural. He preferred it room temperature, although during the winter with the iced pipes the water was freezing anyways.

He drank down the water and felt a little bit better. His skin returned to its naturally smooth state as he stared out the window over the sink. No one was out of course; Victors Row was pretty abandoned with only two of the twelve houses occupied, so no one really came over to this side of the district. He felt his legs itch for something to do and he settled on visiting the Hob. He was always looking for an opportunity to spread a little of his wealth around and the Hob offered him the chance to get some fun trinkets. He was also running low on paint supplies. He finally had the money and the spare time to actually work on his craft. He enjoyed the ability to paint and draw to his hearts content in the study. Yes he also had a study, which he had taken to calling his art studio.

Peeta had been painting scenes from the Hunger Games. Making the art offered him a respite from his ravaged mind and the chance to process everything that occurred in the arena. His most recent work was an oil painting of the cave, the one where they had expressed their love. It had been the only sanctuary from the atrocities they endured. But it was just a still life of the cave and river that ran by it. He couldn't bring himself to incorporate any aspect of Cato into the painting. He had painted a portrait of Cato's face back when he first set up the studio. But once it was completed he hid it from view with a sheet. Seeing Cato's beautiful face looking back at him from the canvas only increased the aching in his heart, even if the sketch from memory didn't do the real man justice. Ever since then he had painted scenes from his mind that did not include Cato. He could not bear the reminder, he had enough of them in his own mind and he didn't need them to be haunting him in the physical world too.

Peeta went to the entry hall and opened the side closet to pull on his winter coat. Then he stepped out into the light snow and made his way over to the Hob. The snow flurries stuck to his eyelashes and melted against his warm pink skin. He hurried through the streets to the Hob, desperate to get out of the cold. As he neared the large ramshackle warehouse his nose caught the scent of all the mixed aromas created by the Hob, like burning incense mixed with smoked pig, coal, and sweat.

He entered and made his way over to Greasy Sae's stall. She was famous for her soups, but as he had started buying his painting supplies here she had been keeping an eye out for anything of use for him.

"Hey Greasy Sae, got anything for me today?" He asked.

The hunched woman with grey hair and a glassy eye gave him her gap-toothed smile as she turned from her large cauldron of soup.

"I got some hides a few days ago that would be perfect for you to paint on and Busey gave me some good oil paints she got in a trade."

"You are so good to me. I'm almost done with the painting I started for you. I think it's going to really brighten up your home." He smiled charmingly at the old woman.

She cackled lightly and poured a small bowl of soup for him. "It's my winter special, you must have some."

She shoved it into his hands and he could not refuse her. He knew she worked wonders with any type of meat given to her and her winter stew was famous. He slurped it down and groaned as the hot liquid washed down his throat warming him up and satisfying his taste buds. While he had money now he did not know how to cook for himself besides roasting a woodland rabbit over a fire, so most nights he didn't eat the best meals. That's why he had started taking up Mrs. Everdeen on her offers for dinner, knowing she could cook.

Thinking of the Everdeen's reminded him he needed to thank her. "Oh by the way, thanks for recommending Mr. Ebsin to me. He has been great and he works really fast."

"Oh no, no, thank you Peeta boy, he greatly needed the work." She then reached out and gripped his right hand in her frail one.

Peeta had hired Mr. Ebsin to do some repairs to the Everdeen's home so they were not so exposed to the elements. Mrs. Everdeen felt it was too much at first, but once the holes in the roof were patched she harassed him no more. Besides, as he had told her, Mr. Ebsin had needed the work too. Peeta thought today he was supposed to start work on the Hawthorne's home. Gale had started the mines recently and would not be able to spend as much time with family nor provide for them as much from hunting. So Peeta had thought it was the least he could do and maybe it would help with their icy relationship. Gale meant a lot to Katniss, he was probably her only friend, and Peeta didn't feel right not sharing his winnings with Gale. Although he did not tell him he was planning this, knowing his pride would cause him to refuse the offer. So instead he just went by to let Hazelle know what he was arranging with Mr. Ebsin. She had been floored by his offer and he could tell she was desperate for the restorations as her youngest, Posy, was sick from the cold draft in her small home. But she had pride like Gale too and was hesitant. Luckily Peeta's smooth words pacified her worries and she was more pragmatic about it than Gale could have been, what with being a single mother of four.

Once he had his fill of Greasy Sae's stew he paid her for the two hides and oil paints, making sure to leave a little extra for the soup. Then he made his way over to Ripper for some of the white liqeour she always managed to smuggle in. He bought three bottles and then headed back out into the cold. The light snow flurry had picked up slightly since he had been inside and he hurried his way back to Victors Row.

As he made his way by the Peacekeepers headquarters a block down from the Town Square and Justice building Darius intercepted him. His beard was thicker from before covering the harsh angles of his jaw line. He was a wide man, but not in the overweight sense, no he was solid and compacted with muscles.

"Hey, Peeta!" He called.

Peeta really didn't want to stop and chat. He knew what he was going to ask and he really didn't want to go to a large group therapy session for all the gay men and women of District 12. He already had enough of his own psychological problems from the Games and missing Cato, he didn't really need to share in other stranger's burdens too. He also didn't need to be putting himself out there as an instigator for change, not with Snow most likely watching his moves in District 12.

"Hello Darius. How are you?" Peeta asked cordially.

"I'm good now. Have you thought more about my offer? The group is waiting for you until we schedule our next meeting."

Peeta didn't like how much he was pushing it, but Darius was an intimidating man and one in a position of power so he didn't really want to anger him.

"I'm sorry. I've just been really busy, uh, preparing for the Victory Tours. Did you know we have to write our own speeches?" He lied.

Darius nodded sympathetically. "Ah, they should hire people to do that for you."

"I wish. I gotta deliver these to a friend though, so I'll be seeing you." Peeta held up the liquor bottles for Darius to see.

"Of course. I'm going to hold you to it though." Darius smiled and Peeta couldn't help but glance at his dead tooth, the left incisor a noticeable brown color.

"Please do." Peeta half-smiled and then made his way back to Victors Row. He thought he could feel Darius watching him walk away, but he didn't want to look back and check.

Once on his street he dropped off his paint supplies and then went to the one other occupied house on the block. All the homes had the same look, a neutral grey paint color with steep peaked roofs and red front doors. But the one occupied by Haymitch was easily recognizable as his curtains were almost always drawn and he had a thick layer of dust that was visibly coating the windows, while his trashcan sat permanently by the front door and overflowed with finished liquor bottles.

Peeta knocked once and then entered with out waiting for a response. His door was always unlocked and knowing Haymitch he was probably holed up in the living room with the TV on as background noise while he drank. Peeta navigated the cluttered hallway, stepping hesitantly over a mushy substance that he was pretty sure was day old vomit. He plugged his nose the rest of the way until he reached the darkened room Haymitch was occupying.

"Haymitch this place has actually surpassed disgusting and is really in a class of its own."

Haymitch sprung upright from the couch, startled by Peeta's pronouncement. Then seeing it was just his former mentee he flipped him off and laid back down with an arm over his eyes.

"If I wanted someone to judge my lifestyle I'd keep Effie around full time," Haymitch moaned. He sounded pretty beat up and Peeta assumed he must have gotten real plastered last night.

"Well Effie sure wouldn't be bringing you gifts. But I guess I can always keep them for myself." Peeta turned to leave.

"Hold on there buddy." Haymitch said as he struggled back upright. His eyes smiled upon seeing the bottles in Peeta's arms. "Bring one of those here."

Peeta grinned. Haymitch was such an easy person to please. He took the rudeness in stride because he knew Haymitch didn't really mean to be an asshole. He was usually just smarting from a hangover or drunk and Peeta could accept that because he knew what Haymitch was coping with. Their lives could never be normal again after what they suffered at the hands of the Capitol. Peeta had at least one nightmare a night. Usually it featured Stasson or Clove exacting some type of torturous revenge or the boy from 10 succeeding in killing Cato. He knew they would probably never fade. Haymitch only kept his demons at bay with the bottle and if that's what he needed Peeta would oblige because he kept his promise of sobriety during the games and worked his ass off to keep Peeta alive. Cato had told him that Haymitch even sat by his bedside in the hospital while Cato was under forced sedation. It was an affectionate display Peeta had not expected from him, but it made sense, as Peeta wasn't conscious to witness it. Haymitch didn't really like being caught showing his emotions so Peeta never mentioned it. He just returned the favor by bringing him drinks.

Peeta forced Haymitch's feet off the couch so he could sit next to him. Then he opened one of the bottles and took a swig of it before passing it to a grateful Haymitch who drank down a large gulp as if it were water and his dehydrated bodied cried out for its replenishment. Peeta coughed from the sharp burn in his throat feeling like he had just swallowed fire.

"Ripper finds the good shit." Haymitch said. "Thanks, by the by."

"No problem," Peeta replied as he felt the liquor warm his stomach.

Haymitch studied Peeta for a minute before he handed him the bottle again. "I'm sure you could use another."

Peeta accepted and took another albeit smaller swig. It still burned going down, but now he was feeling the effects of it as his brain started to buzz slightly as if flies were swarming inside his skull, the vibrations of their wings slowing the processing abilities of his mind. He hiccupped and Haymitch smirked at the novice.

"So how you holding up?"

Peeta knew Haymitch wasn't asking in general. He was referring to dealing with out Cato. Peeta didn't really want to talk about it.

"Oh you know, some days are better than others…" Peeta trailed off lost in his thoughts. He had found the best way to cope was to ignore that part of his life. If he just pretended that he wasn't really banished to District 12 and forcibly separated from Cato he could function. Like the sheet over the portrait of Cato, it hid the pain from sight so he could try for a semblance of normal, although he wasn't sure what that meant anymore. Some days he found himself wallowing in self-despair and unable to get out of bed. But most days he was able to make it through, knowing if he couldn't be with Cato they still were able to have contact and he was thankful for the small blessing.

"Well the Victory Tour is only ten weeks away now, you're more than halfway there," Haymitch said as he awkwardly pat Peeta's back.

"Yep." It was not soon enough. He stole the bottle back from Haymitch and took another sip. The bottle was half empty now and he found it quite apropos because that was exactly as he saw his life right now. The glass of his life was half empty with out Cato in it. No matter how awful things got in the Games he always had Cato and he felt like he could find the light even in the darkest of places, but now the sun seemed to be setting without the promise of a new, better day.

They sat in silence as Peeta slipped into a steady buzz from the alcohol. He could see why Haymitch took to the substance, if he wasn't careful he could form his own addiction. He found himself numbing to his inner pain and his body was warming wonderfully as he felt his head sway to the beat of a tune no one else could hear.  _Maybe I should keep one of these bottles for myself,_ Peeta thought.  _Then I can just drink myself into a dreamless slumber. Stasson can't haunt me then._

Peeta decided it was best if he left then. He didn't want the temptation of picking up Haymitch's habit. He may have learned to accept and even love him in spite of it, but it was not what he wanted for himself. So he bid good evening to Haymitch and left him to his bottle. He hopped over the filth in the hallway and braved the cold air the short distance to his home across the street. The sun had set and a fiercely cold wind had picked up, blowing down the empty street with an eerie howl. Luckily his liquored up blood kept him from feeling the difference in temperature as he made his way home three doors down and on the opposing side of the street.

But he stopped short of his door when he spotted a figure waiting for him on the step. He hesitated, wondering who would be visiting him at this hour. As he got closer he saw it was a tall male figure and he wracked his brain for a reason someone would be dropping by.

"Mellark!"

He barely registered the anger in the call of his name as the wind carried the man's voice away. But then he saw those familiar dark brooding blue eyes. They were so dark one almost didn't notice they had a color, but Peeta had seen them in the light during happier times when Katniss was alive to know they were a piercing navy blue. Peeta always felt weaker in the presence of their harsh stare.

"Gale, what's the matter?" Peeta asked and he was surprised by the sober sound of his voice.

"You! Stay the fuck away from my family. We don't need your hand-outs or your pity." He was finally within earshot and close enough to land a push against Peeta's chest. He may have sounded sober, but he was not by any means. He quickly lost his balance and fell back on his ass. Luckily there was a fresh layer of cold snow to soften his landing, but there was nothing to soften the words Gale just spoke.

"Wha— excuse me?" Peeta looked up at Gale's towering figure flabbergasted. Gale's face was smudged with soot from working in the coalmines all day and it enhanced his enraged masculine appearance.

"You heard me. Stay away from my family. You may have convinced Kat— the Everdeens that they need your money," He couldn't say her name and somehow Peeta still felt sorry for him as he continued his rant. "But the Hawthorne's can provide for themselves,  _I_ can take care of my family. We don't need you to save us."

Peeta stood back up and brushed the snow from his behind before staring Gale down. "I know you don't need saving. I just want to help. That's all I've ever wanted to do. I have more money than I know what to do with. I'm sorry your infantile brain can't possibly comprehend that I'm not doing this to spite you or emasculate you. I do it in _Katniss'_ honor." He made sure to emphasize her name, because he could say it. He could remember her and honor her, since Gale sure as fuck couldn't.

"Whatever gay boy, just leave me and my family out of your next charity binge," He sneered and then shoved his way past Peeta almost knocking him over again, before storming off into the dark.

While Gale disappeared into the night a particularly harsh gust of wind blew down the street and caused Peeta's legs to wobble.  _Fuck, maybe the alcohol wasn't the best idea if I can't even stand straight._  Although he did manage to hold his own fairly well with Gale, he was not going to be bullied nor would he stoop to his level of name calling and shoving. He would not stop helping him because now he could see how desperate his cries for help were. Katniss' death had done a real number on him and no one seemed to notice his anguish. He was sure being forced to work in the mines six days a week were not helping him cope either while his family struggled to eat on the coalminer's meager salary. Peeta knew he couldn't stop trying to help now, even if that further alienated him from ever being a part of Gale's life because he deserved peace of mind just as much as the next person.

Peeta's resolve only further hardened as he walked back into the empty home. He had begun his day running from the house, restless from the loneliness and yet he found himself returning still just as tormented by the quiet isolation that permeated his large home.  _Where is the person who will fight for my peace of mind?_ Peeta wondered.  _Do I not deserve it because I've sinned? Because I'm a killer?_ He didn't know the answer and he felt a drunken anger wash over him as he stormed into his study and towards the stack of paintings against one of the walls. He tore through them throwing them about in a fit of rage. He stomped on them and broke them down until they were a trashed unrecognizable pile of splintered frames and shredded hides. Then he lit them on fire in the hearth of his living room with a demented satisfaction. He watched as they cracked and shriveled from the flames, being eaten alive by his suffering. He stomped back into the study and found the sheet-draped painting, which he ripped off with a wild cry and carried to the fire. He lifted the painting above his head ready to toss it into the hungry flames until his eyes connected with the soft chocolate brushstrokes that were Cato's eyes and he felt the bile rise in his throat. His muscles went lax and the painting fell from his numb fingertips as he collapsed to the floor in a cold sweat and heaved up the remnants of Greasy Sae's stew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter wasn't the most exciting, but I've got to set some stuff up before anything can happen. Let me know what you think of everything so far!


	3. Broken Craving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a breakdown of the timeline:
> 
> Moments of Change took place over three weeks from mid-September to the first week of October.
> 
> Burning Down begins three months later in January. The Victory Tour is placed half way between the Hunger Games in mid-March. The Quarter Quell then starts in September again.

Ch. 3- Broken Craving

"You failed the name of this family! The very least you can do is renounce your ties to him! It's time to start making amends."

Cato's father was in another one of his moods. Ever since Cato had been forced to return to District 2 he has had to endure the inconsistent wrath of his father. Sometimes Cato would go weeks with out speaking more than a few words with him and others he would endure constant attacks and verbose tirades from his father, the Victor of the 53rd Hunger Games. Today was one of those days.

"Oh really father? And how should I go about that? Kiss the ass of the Mayor; send gift baskets to the President? You'll never get me to regret my decisions!" Cato shouted back, feeling that growing irascible mood in him rise up like a dog provoked.

Mr. Ryves had picked a new tactic recently. He was not just beating up on his son for failing to bring honor to the family name by being the sole victor. No, now he was accusing him of allying himself with a traitor and that he needed to begin to turn the opinions of those in District 2 back in favor of the family and recommit himself to the Capitol.

"You will show me some respect when you talk to me, child. And you know very well that by continuing to talk to that boy you are aligning yourself with his seditious and subversive behavior and in turn tarnishing this family's hard earned name. We support the Capitol in this household and this district!" Mr. Ryves was so worked up spittle was flying from his mouth and a vein on his temple was pulsating angrily. Cato shared many traits with his father; most people could immediately recognize them as family while when he was with his mother it was harder to tell. She had red hair, which his sister had inherited, and a petite frame. Cato had his father's blonde hair, tall stature and muscular build. The only difference was his father's age was beginning to show as his blonde hair was peppered with grays and his crow's feet grew deeper with each passing day. Right now they were severely creased as he frowned in his fight with Cato.

"It's not about supporting or defying anyone, sir. I love him and I will not abandon him." Cato sneered in mock respect. He couldn't respect anyone who talked about Peeta that way.

Cato's father pushed away from the table where he was eating breakfast with a loud scrape of the chair as he stood to his full height. But it lacked the effect it had when Cato was a child because they were the same height now. That didn't stop his dad from invading Cato's personal space.

"How did I raise such a weak fool?" He growled, bearing his clenched teeth.

Cato visibly bristled at the insult. He felt his mind clouding from the hate that was taking over. He might have been literally seeing red. "You didn't. Fortunately I was saved from becoming the sadistic murderer you were in the games!"

There faces were inches apart and it seemed as if they would come to blows at any moment, but they were interrupted by Cassadine as she flounced down the stairs, her beautiful orange-red hair done up in corkscrew pigtails that bounced with each step of her descent. She was wearing her usual bright pink dress coat and matching pink boots that Cato had bought her from the local Capitol themed shop. Pink was her favorite color at the moment.

"Enough you two! Papa give me a kiss, I'm off to school! Cato, walk me," She ordered them and both listened. Cato backed down and tried to focus on his breathing to relax his tensed muscles. They felt like steel underneath his flesh. There had never been violence in his family, but he was afraid he was on the verge of breaking that barrier and striking his father down. He was finding it harder to keep his calm anymore. The fuse to light his temper became shorter with each passing day.

Meanwhile his father begrudgingly seated himself having backed down from the fight as well. Cassadine was the only bright spot in this family for Cato and he doted on her fiercely so he made sure to let his blood pressure fall into a normal range for her sake. She was also her daddies little angel and probably his only redeeming quality. She had their father tightly wrapped around her freckled finger.

Mr. Ryves leaned over to kiss his young daughter and then looked daggers at Cato, daring him to defy him again. Cassadine then skipped over to the other side of the table where their mother sat. One might think she almost wasn't part of this family the way she refrained from involving herself in their lives or deigning to acknowledge their presence. She usually ate her morning grapefruit in silence and then filed her nails or polished the jewelry she would wear that day. Appearance and money were the loves of her life. Cato just shook his head at his fucked up parents and took his sisters outstretched hand. She was certainly demanding, but it was to be expected with the way the family spoiled her and Cato knew it wouldn't stop anytime soon.

They stepped out onto Victors Row and it was a bustling scene. Avoxes were in the process of expanding the street with ten new houses, as the Victors Village would soon be filled up if anymore District 2 tributes won the games. Cato had received one of the last houses on the stretch and he occupied it alone, not wishing to live under his father's roof anymore. But it was noisy as the Avoxes constructed the new homes, their loud hammers and drills usually awakening him at sunrise. But he didn't mind as it got him up in time to walk his sister to school. Not living at home meant he got to see her less and he desperately wanted to keep his presence in her life. Everything else had been going to shit and he couldn't let the same happen to Cassy. He wanted to try and keep some semblance of consistency in her life.

It was frosty outside and a fresh snow the night before had coated the peak of the Nut off in the distance. Cassy buttoned the top of her coat against the intrusive cold as Cato bent down to help her put on her satin pink gloves. Her pink ensemble and fiery hair caused her to pop, much like her personality, against the backdrop of the grey stone pavement and white snow coated roofs.

"Cato I can put on my own gloves," She stated simply. "Andwill you and Papa ever be nice?"

He sighed as he stood back up. He hated fighting in her presence. But he couldn't stand it, not anymore. The separation from Peeta had been wearing down his patience and he snapped at the littlest annoyance. It was like he were a sling shot being stretched back further and further. He wasn't sure how much slack he had left before he snapped back forward launching his projectile of hate that was bubbling in his veins.

"I'm sorry you saw that Cassy. You know we've never got along well."

"It's because your grouchy you haven't seen Peeta in like forever. But I've been counting the days down on my calendar and it's only six more weeks until the tour starts!" She smiled at him helpfully and he laughed. He loved that she was counting down the days just as anxiously as he. "I want to be the first to meet him. Okay? Not even Mommy or Papa or the Mayor!"

"Deal." Cato grinned at his sister's demands.

They walked in silence for a little longer and Cato noticed Enobaria was watching him from the window of her house as they walked by. Her black hair was cropped close to her head and he could see just the edges of her sharp teeth capped in gold at the points. Cato vividly remembered meeting her once at the Academy when she came to share her experiences in the game and how she lost her temper with one of the classes lowest achieving students during her training exercise. She had berated him unjustly and then when he was fed up and made the mistake of talking back she had seized his hand and bit off his index finger. After that Cato had worked extra hard to prove himself at the academy and suppress any emotions. He had to be like her, vicious and sadistic if he wanted to survive the games and bring glory to his family. But now that he had returned and seen the games for what they were he saw the monster she really was. He tugged Cassy's hand back into his and sped past Enobaria's home.

"Do you think they will let you live together after the tour?" Cassy asked.

He had been lost in his own thoughts and memories he wasn't sure what she was asking at first. "Oh, um… I really hope so Cassy. Its like a piece of me is missing and every morning I wake up hoping to find it filled, but it's only grown bigger."

"I'll fight them if they try to take him from you again!" She karate kicked the air trying to show him her skills.

He laughed and then pulled her hand up until she was lifted off the ground, then gripping her with both arms and he swung her around in circles before giving her a tight bear hug. She squealed in surprise and then hugged him back, giving him one peck on the cheek.

"Love you Cassy. Now lets get you to class!" He took off running with her chasing behind him.

After he had dropped her off at the school building near downtown he began to wonder the stone paved streets of the town center. Most buildings were built from smooth white and grey stone that they received from their own quarries. Usually the districts never got to enjoy the products they made for the Capitol, but being a Career district gave them privileges, like using the surplus stone for their construction, giving District 2 a much more modern look than probably most other Districts could afford (besides 1).

As he made his way through the streets he endured the customary attention he received whenever he was in public. He walked a fine line between reverence and disdain. He felt as if he were treading a tightrope, it was a constant balancing act yet he wasn't in control of which way he tipped. The audience held that power. Some were just curious of the victor from 2 that fell in love with a fellow tribute from 12 and managed to change the rules of the game. They usually gawked at him openly. Then there were those that secretly respected his actions, they usually were the quarry workers that received the least preferential treatment in the district and suffered most. They supported Peeta's actions against the Capitol and in turn respected Cato. They typically watched him with furtive glances afraid to openly support him. He found those people to be the least bothersome.

Then there were those that found him to be an affront to the values of their district. He had failed to be the strongest in the games by not being the only victor and they thought Peeta was openly inciting rebellion. Cato's relationship with him made him a de facto traitor. They usually glared, bumped into him or outright confronted him for his actions, like his father had done this morning. Cato tried to refrain from becoming violent, but he was finding it harder with each passing day. Forces were conspiring to make him the brute he used to wear as a mask and he craved Peeta's calming nature. He was the only person who knew how to draw Cato out from the monstrous façade he wore.

Probably making things worse was he hadn't had sex in four months. He was worried his dick would fall off soon from the way he beat it every night. Yet he was never as satisfied as he had been after making love with Peeta. The sexual back up in his system was probably adding to his volatility. He couldn't seem to find a consistency in his life anymore.

A mother was struggling to hold her young son back, but he broke free of her grip and ran up to Cato. He hugged his right thigh, as he only reached Cato's waist in height. He looked up at Cato with soft blue eyes that reminded him so much of Peeta his heart actually skipped a beat.

"I want to be like you when I grow up," The little boy squeaked and Cato palmed his head affectionately. His mother ran over, completely flustered and pulled him, hard, from Cato's leg. She glared at Cato as if he had caused this and then slapper her child's wrist.

"You do not run away from mommy like that!" She chastised the child as he whimpered. "And that is a bad man. We do not support him."

Cato was too shocked by those blue eyes to care that his character was being called into question, although he growled when the woman smacked her child. No one should hit a child. Especially boys with Peeta's blue eyes. Peeta had enough abuse as a kid. That thought made his heart ache again, knowing that Peeta was trapped back in his home district with an unloving family.

He walked over to a small park between some buildings and sat himself on the cold steel of a bench. He sat there and tried to collect his thoughts. Ever since the games he felt as if he had been losing himself. The violence and death of the games haunted him, calling him to accept how easy it was to kill. It was in his nature. His father and the citizens of 2 were not helping as they plucked away at his resolve. He didn't know how much longer he could take the assault on his character before he lost the man he knew he desperately wanted to be, for Peeta. Peeta I need you. Fuck…

The sun rose high in the sky as Cato remained on the bench. It was the perfect place to hide as not many people came by him, most sticking to the street to complete their errands or work. He studied the way the snow melted off the branches of the hibernating trees from the suns heating rays. He wished he could join them, just melt away from his spot on the bench and leave behind the wicked thoughts that haunted his mind. Images of the final bloody blows that snuffed out the life from Stasson's eyes, the slicing and dicing of his sword as he cut limbs and throats of tributes in the blood bath, the cries for mercy he did not show. He wasn't sure what was real from the games anymore. His nightmares mangled the truth of his actions during the game and twisted him into the monster he feared lived inside him. But then he would see a reminder of the boy that changed his life and saved him from becoming another vile career like Enobaria or Stasson. He had proven to him there was so much more to life than winning the games. Peeta was a selfless human, volunteering to save a young child from sure death and refusing to play by the Gamemakers rules so the nation could see hope still existed. One could still fight the oppression they had been born into.

The rumble of Cato's stomach shook him from his stasis. He didn't know what time it was, but he was sure it had been hours since he dropped his sister off at school. He finally pulled himself from the secluded park and set off back to his own home in Victor's Village. He considered stopping by Lyme's house as he hadn't seen her in a while, but thought better of it knowing he was still in a foul mood and things weren't about to get any better for him as he bumped into his old friend from the Career Academy. He sighed internally knowing the slam against his shoulder wasn't because they both hadn't been paying attention to where they were going.

"Dreg today's not a good day for this."

Dreg was shorter than Cato, but still stood tall at around six feet. He had wiry shoulder length brown hair and thin eyebrows that were slanted in a sharp frown. He had a scar across his nose from a training incident at the Academy, which wasn't unusual. Most people got scarred from the arduous training regiment, even Cato, but his marks were scrubbed clean by the Capitol.

"It's always a good day to remind you of how far you've fallen," Dreg remarked with a pompous smirk, his rusty brown eyes taunting Cato.

Cato sighed. They used to be as good of friends as one could be at the Career Academy. Dreg was a year behind him so he was like Cato's protégé and admired him greatly while always keeping up a healthy dose of competition. But after his return from the games their relationship had chilled considerably as his friend turned his back on him for his relationship with a 'traitor'.

"Go away." Cato decided the best course of action was to leave before Dreg lit the fuse to a bomb he couldn't stop. Dreg put a hand on his shoulder and Cato had to fight his body to restrain himself from teaching Dreg his place. His fingers flexed rigidly at his sides.

"I'll let you alone today, Cato. But I thought you should know I'm training with Brutus at the Academy. I will volunteer this year at the reaping and return glory to District 2, unlike you. There will be no funny business with the other tributes and I shall be the sole victor," Dreg sneered and then he let go of Cato's shoulder and walked away leaving Cato returned to his fuming temper from the morning.

Cato snorted and then decided the only way to salvage the rest of his day was to exercise. At least he could work on controlling his body if he couldn't tame his mind. He had a gym set up with various weight lifting equipments and once he was home he set about pushing his body to the limit. He went through his typical regiment at a punishing pace until all his muscles screamed from the strain and he was drenched in sweat. But even then he did not stop. He pushed himself until he faltered and then his rage returned two-fold and he picked up the nearest weight disc and threw it. The 50lb weight smashed into the wall and left a gaping hole into the next room. It looked a lot like how his heart felt at the moment. Wounded like he had been speared again, but this time the kid from 10 aimed accurately and gouged a hole in his heart right where he carried his love for Peeta. He needed Peeta more than ever at the moment and he cursed the insurmountable distance between them. He yearned to kiss those soft lips of Peeta's one more time. Just one kiss and he would know everything was going to be all right.

Instead he settled for his hand and a shower to relieve the tension that knotted his body. Water cascaded down his well muscled back. The rivulets of water ran down the grooves and contours of his back like a stream flowing over a stony riverbed. He stood with his left arm braced against the shower wall and his head bowed down under the heated flow of water. His sculpted buttocks tensed and dimpled with the fervent stroke of his right hand against his erect penis. The moisture from the water helped his hand slide across his rigid member with ease, but his grip was tight and working up a fierce friction that turned his mushroom head an angry red as he beat it towards release. The muscles in his back undulated like a turbulent ocean as his hand worked at a pace so fast his it looked blurred. Cato imagined that it was not his hand that was pumping his cock for its milky release, but Peeta's tight round behind. He imagined himself forcing Peeta over roughly and slamming in repeatedly. Peeta would cry out in ecstasy or pain and Cato would continue regardless, needing his release, using and abusing what was his. His balls tightened and his eyesight distorted as his stomach convulsed and his hot seed spilled out over his beating fist like a shotgun. He bit his bottom lip hard, drawing blood and containing a strangled whine.

When his vision returned to normal he watched as the water washed his seed away, spiraling around the drain at a dizzying rate before slipping in and disappearing from sight, much like the visage of Peeta in his minds eyes slipped away from him again. He tried to hold on, he thought if he imagined hard enough it would stay; it would become real; it would be enough. It never was. He turned the knob that ended the spray of water and he stepped out of the shower, toweling himself dry. He hoped that the rough sexual fantasies he was having with Peeta were just the result of his pent up sexual frustration and not his subconscious leaking through. But that was a thought for another time as he realized it was almost time to call Peeta.

Cato rushed to throw on his clothes and make his way downstairs to the telephone in his living room. He sat himself on the couch and dialed the operator of District 2. Many people had the use of telephones in his district requiring them to have an operator, which was lucky because that was the only way he could be connected through to Peeta's line in District 12. He did not know the number nor was he sure one could make a direct call out of the district.

"Operator? This is Cato Ryves—yes. Same as always. Thank you." He said and tasted the blood from his cut lip.

Cato waited for the ring to signal he had been patched through to Peeta's line. He propped his feet up on the mahogany coffee table and felt a familiar light sensation in his stomach. He always felt as if his stomach would float away, weightless, while waiting for Peeta to pick up.

"Cato!" Peeta answered brightly.

Cato's stomach did somersaults upon hearing Peeta's enticing voice.

"Hey babe," He replied gruffly.

Peeta hesitated on the other end. "Is everything okay?" There was a static crackle and his voice came across a little distorted. It happened sometimes. The lines were old and not well maintained in 12.

Cato wanted nothing more than to share all his problems and concerns with Peeta. That's what boyfriends were supposed to do, communicate, share in each other's burdens. But the telephone was never safe. They could never really talk about what was happening for fear that the Capitol was listening. So instead they had to pretend everything was fine.

"Yeah, sorry… I just miss you." Cato decided that was the safest and true. He realized he hadn't said that enough recently and maybe he was taking it for granted. These things needed to be said.

"I—I miss you too." Peeta heaved a deep sigh.

"Cassadine reminded me it's only six weeks now."

"I can't wait to meet her," Peeta said and there was another crackle over the line. "Primrose has been keeping track of the days for me too, it's sweet."

Cato was glad Peeta had built a relationship with Katniss' sister. He knows how hard her death was on him and he was sure it was just as rough for the sister to witness on television. They needed each other. "I'm glad you have someone like her in your life there. It makes me feel better that you're not so alone."

"Yeah…" Peeta trialed off and the conversation fell into a lull. It had been happening more and more frequently as the months went by. There was only so much trivial information to be shared about their days before it became repetitive. Cato pressed the phone against his forehead in frustration. He just wanted to have Peeta in his arms. He almost wished for the time they spent in the cave from the Hunger Games and that was a twisted thought.

"Listen, Peeta. I just realized I haven't eaten all day. I think I'm going to make myself something. Uh… we'll talk again tomorrow, okay?" Cato crushed his eyes closed and waited for Peeta's response. He didn't know why he was cutting their conversation short, but he felt like his heart was on fire, the flames being stoked larger and hotter with each word spoken by Peeta and he couldn't handle the pain any longer. Not tonight.

"Oh, okay. Well love you. Talk soon." Peeta replied confused.

"Love you too." Cato said and then he hung up the phone on the receiver. He held a hand to his chest and massaged it, waiting for the burning to recede. Nothing would ever be easy, not when he loved the boy on fire.


	4. A Shared Bond

Ch. 4- A Shared Bond

The sun breached the canopy of leaves and speckled the earth below with a vibrant hue of greens and yellows. Everything was soft and slightly out of focus giving an ethereal tone to Peeta's world as he touched Cato. Their naked bodies reunited harmoniously as their lips danced together lighter than a butterflies touch. Peeta ran his hands over the smooth contours of his lover's wide shoulders and cupped his strong jaw as they deepened the kiss. Cato laid Peeta down on the spongy springtime earth were youthful green grass spurted up from the moist soil and tickled his back. Cato's hand caressed up Peeta's thigh with feathery grace and repositioned it atop his shoulder. Peeta twitched in anticipation of the connection they were about to make. He dropped his head to the earth and stared up at the foliage above him, immersing himself in the feelings Cato was drawing from his body as he watched the enchanted forest around him vibrate with the life and love they were exuding. Cato prepped him and slid in effortlessly as if he belonged only there. Peeta couldn't last, it had been so long since they had made love and he was ready to burst at the seams. The sunlight grew and shrank in intensity with each of Cato's thrusts and the earth shook with their breathy groans.  _Peeta._  His name repeated back to him and it was all he ever yearned for, to hear his name on the lips of the man he loved…

"Peeta?"

The disorientation of being pulled from such a sensual fantasy to reality was rough as Peeta came to the realization that he was only dreaming of the reunion with Cato. When he managed to open his heavy lidded eyes and saw he was still in his sparsely decorated bedroom in District 12, alone, he was doused in disappointment. If only he could have stayed in that dream world forever, where it was just Cato and he in love and safe from the Capitol's reach. But he wasn't alone he realized as he remembered the voice, which was not Cato's, that had drawn him from his vivid sexual fantasy. He raised his head slightly from the pillow to see his wide-set father standing at the foot of his bed with deep dimpled cheeks and a pock marked forehead. He jumped up with a cry, bunching the sheets around his still excited groin in hopes of hiding his indecency from his father's sight.

"Father, what are you doing here?" Peeta asked startled.

"Sorry to scare you son, I thought I'd bring you your favorite for breakfast. I baked some fresh this morning." He held up a little brown baggy with a hesitant shrug. Peeta knew the trepidation was over what his reaction was going to be. His father had been slowly trying to re-kindle a relationship between the two of them and they were both still unsure of where the other stood.

"Oh. Uh what is it?" Peeta pulled himself upright on the bed trying to remember what his favorite pastry was as he sat a pillow on his lap like it were a table to eat from, but also a means to further cover his erection.

His father walked over and sat by his feet on the bed, which dipped from his added weight. He took out a familiar spiral bread roll with powdered sugar atop it and Peeta's mouth watered.

"Mallorca bread!" He snatched the large fluffy bread from his dad's thick fingers and quickly took a bite only to choke on the powdered sugar that he inhaled in his excitement.

"Careful there son," His father said as he tapped Peeta's back. "I guess it still is your favorite."

Peeta nodded his head as he devoured another bite. He was creating quite a mess as breadcrumbs and white sugar fell atop his bedding like snow flakes.

"Thanks dad." Peeta managed to get out after swallowing another mouthful. He looked up at his dad and saw the smile in his blue eyes. Peeta was glad he had inherited his father's eyes. He had a look about him that he was a jovial man when he was younger with deep smile wrinkles and a mirth hidden in the depths of his eyes that was only visible when they broke free of the apathy of his life in moments like these.

That was when Peeta decided he was going to try: try and forgive him for becoming lost in his own world; try and forgive him for letting his mother dictate their lives with fear and pain, because he realized he needed a family; someone that shared his blood; someone that had his back no matter what. He spent too much energy running from and hating his family. If he could learn to forgive his father then maybe he could find the path to escaping his past sufferings. And so he stood up, now decent, and hugged his father. It was similar to hugging a teddy bear as his dad's soft, plush skin gave way to Peeta's embrace. His father must have been caught off guard by the sudden sentiment as he wavered but then his arms wrapped around his youngest son and returned the hug in earnest.

When Peeta pulled back he saw the moisture in his fathers eyes and it made him uncomfortable. He had never seen so many different emotions in his father's eyes in one morning.

"I—I'm sorry Peeta." He said.

Peeta's brows rose in surprise as he looked upon his father, but he didn't speak a word, instead waiting for his father to continue in explanation. His dad focused his attention to dusting off the powdered sugar remnants from his flannel shirt before he looked back up at his son.

"I know I've never been there for you. I kind of lost my self a long time ago. But watching you in those games… I'd never been prouder of someone and I realized I needed to change before it was too late and I lost you. Our family lost you. I'm just so grateful for this second chance and that you came back to us."

Peeta was speechless. He didn't think he'd ever heard his dad speak so many words to him before. This was all new terrain for him and he was unsure how to navigate it. Peeta knew there was absolutely no hope of salvaging his relationship with the rest of the family. He was already lost to them. But his father was reaching out and Peeta knew if he were to only take the hand offered then maybe one of his familial relationships could be saved.

"I can't say I forgive you just yet. But I will try." Peeta replied honestly.

His father nodded his head and then stood. Peeta had also inherited his height as his father only came to stand at about five feet and seven inches, but thankfully he wasn't as wide. "I can accept that. I'll leave you now."

Peeta was grateful that his father knew when it was time to leave. If he had stayed he may have pushed Peeta too much for one morning and only hindered the progress they were making, it was a delicate balance as they stood on the edges of a seesaw trying to figure out the best way to find stability with each other. Once alone Peeta got dressed for the day. It was getting progressively warmer as the days passed and spring approached, but it was still too chilly to not wear his winter coat, although there was an end in sight to the cold, literally and figuratively. In a few days the Victory Tour would start and Peeta would finally be reunited with his love and that was all he needed to get him through the final stretch. It was the carrot that dangled before him and propelled him forward even though he had no clue of the destination.

With a stomach full on his favorite pastry and an antsy mind Peeta decided to head out of the district and into the woods to do some sketches. He needed the seclusion and quiet to help calm his anxious mind and drawing always worked as a kind of therapy he could get lost in and suddenly time would have flown by, which was all he could hope for at the moment. Time seemed to pass slower the closer it got to the reunion.

On his way down Victors Row he smiled in hello to Hazelle. Gale's mother was on her way to clean Haymitch's house. After the confrontation between Peeta and Gale a few weeks ago he had gone to Haymitch and asked him to hire Gale's mother as a part time maid. It killed two birds with one stone for Peeta. Haymitch desperately needed someone to clean his filthy house and Hazelle desperately needed the work. This way Gale could not accuse Peeta of trying to give anymore 'charity' to his family and it helped Hazelle feel self-sufficient. With the extra money from Haymitch he wouldn't have to worry about their family starving while Gale slaved away in the mines for a pittance of a salary.

As Peeta made his way through town he tried to keep a low profile hoping not to be noticed by too many people. With each passing day that drew him closer to the Victory Tour and thus Cato the Capitol marketing started ramping up into high gear. They could never let the citizens of Panem forget about the Hunger Games and since Peeta and Cato, the star-crossed lovers, had become celebrities in the Capitol they were the focal point of the campaign. Peeta was faced with a barrage of images of himself and Cato taken from the Games and Interviews every time the television was on. His celebrity status had been fading slightly, but with the renewed push by the Capitol he found himself back to the center of attention as if he had just returned victorious from the Games.

Unfortunately he didn't manage to escape from District 12's limits before none other than Darius, his favorite groupie, spotted him.

"Peeta, you've been hiding from me." Darius teased as he planted himself in Peeta's path. Darius was not going to let him get away so easy this time.

"No, of course not. I've just been trying to keep a low profile as the Victory Tour nears." Peeta explained.

"Well then you must come by tonight before you are whisked away from us by the Capitol. We will be meeting this evening at 5." Darius set a demanding stare on Peeta.

"Uh…" Peeta couldn't think of a way out this time and so he relented with a sense of deflation. "Sure, Darius... I will see you at five. Where?"

Darius grinned, bearing that awful dead tooth, as he clapped a hand on Peeta's back. "Oh that is great to here! Everyone meets at my place in the Peacekeepers village. I'm number four."

"I'll see you then." Peeta said and then broke free from Darius, but it wasn't until he rounded the next corner that he shrugged the uncomfortable feeling. He walked speedily towards the weak spot in the fence, wanting to escape from the district boundaries before he had to engage in conversation with more unwanted followers.

The twig bounced off the fence with out being fried and so Peeta continued to the corner that he could peel back and reach freedom on the other side with confidence that he wouldn't electrocute himself. Once outside of District 12 he ran to the tree line and quickly disappeared from sight.

Peeta found himself drawn to the woods ever since the games ended. It was as if they had some magnetic pull over him. Wherever he was he could feel it beckoning him and once he was drawn there he always felt a little more relaxed. He knew it was odd and maybe crazy to seek out the woods after experiencing so many atrocities in the wooded arena, but now that he was so isolated from the people in those games that changed his life he felt it was the only way to be close to them. The presence of Katniss and Cato seemed stronger around Peeta when he entered the wooded area outside of District 12. Almost as if Katniss or Cato were patiently waiting for him in a treetop or cave and it calmed his aching spirit like one of Mrs. Everdeen's salves.

While trying not to dwell on his forced meeting tonight at Darius' he pulled out his sketchbook and sat beneath a large evergreen tree by an iced over creek. The ground was still hard and frozen from the weather, but there had not been any new snow for two weeks now and so he could sit without fear of getting his pants wet with snow melt. He began to sketch the creek in his notepad trying his best to capture the look of the ice and the sun's reflection.

Time passed in the silence of the forest as Peeta concentrated on his pencil strokes against the notepad. The only noises to disturb the peace were the random call of a bird or the scurry of a forest critter across the dry earth and the scratch of pencil to parchment. That was until he heard the crunch of dead leaves and twigs beneath a heavy foot. Peeta's eyes hesitantly scanned the forest for the source in trepidation. Had a peacekeeper followed him? If he was caught out here he knew the consequences would be severe.

Luckily his eyes alighted upon a young doe. She scrapped her right hoof at the base of a tree and then bent down to eat something she had unearthed, perhaps some virginal greens? Suddenly the deer's head popped up and her ears twitched rapidly as if to swat off invisible flies. Then she galloped swiftly back into the cover of the trees whence she came right as an arrow tore from behind Peeta and embedded into the trunk of the tree the doe had been standing at not a moment before. Peeta tensed, startled by the appearance of the arrow and his mind sunk to dark depths like an anchor dropped at sea. He was trying to save Katniss from Clove when an arrow unleashed from Stasson hiding in the trees struck him in the shoulder. Katniss screamed. Clove gloated.

Peeta involuntarily reached to grope his injured shoulder only to find he was perfectly healthy. It was just a flash memory ripped to the surface of his mind by the appearance of the arrow. With his mind under control he searched for the owner and sighed when he spotted Gale a few feet behind him.

"Do you ever take a day off?"

Gale swung and aimed his bow and arrow at Peeta with wild eyes, obviously caught off guard by Peeta's appearance seated at the base of the tree. The look on Peeta's petrified face must have made him actually feel an emotion towards Peeta other than anger and hate as a look of guilt flashed across his face and he lowered the weapon apologetically.

"Sorry, you startled me…" He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, knowing that pointing weapon at a recovering Hunger Games veteran could probably trigger some post traumatic stress or something.

Peeta worked to recapture his franticly paced breath as his heart throbbed in his chest. He hadn't come this close to weaponry since the games ended and all the memories and emotions rushing his system were overwhelming.

"It's okay. I should be used to weapons being pulled on me." Peeta tried to laugh it off, but he still carried a pained expression of grief.

"Well to answer you question, no, I don't take a day off. I can't afford such luxuries with a family always a day away from starving. I don't have blood money to support my family."

Peeta bristled at the insult. "Oh just fuck off already. I don't have the patience for your angst today Gale."

"Fine by me." Gale turned to walk away, but Peeta felt a spike of rage at the site of the turned back.

"No! You know what?" Peeta shouted at Gale. He turned with an amused look on his face, as if Peeta's anger were just that of a petulant child.

"Yes?" He prompted snidely.

Peeta stood from his spot against the evergreen and ranted, "I'm tired of you treating me like I'm the villain. I have done nothing wrong and  _especially_  to you. All I've ever done is try to be nice and helpful. I didn't ask for any of this to happen to me and I sure as hell don't deserve your disrespect and hatefulness." Peeta vented with a rush of air and urgency afraid if he didn't spew it all out he would lose his train of thought or composure in the bubbling pot of rage that was seated in the pit of his stomach. "Just, just what is your problem with me?"

"Everything. You lived and Katniss died. You're the hero and she's forgotten. You're stealing everything away from me that she left behind!" Gale railed against Peeta as he stormed back closer to him.

He said it with such fury and pent up frustration Peeta knew he must have been holding those hateful words in for a long time and now that Peeta had opened the door to this fight the floodgates were finally breaking. Gale invaded Peeta's personal space with his broad chest puffed out and unruly face mere inches from Peeta's. Peeta looked up into Gale's cobalt blue eyes with an equally wild presence behind his shimmering blue orbs. He was not going to be made to feel guilty for Katniss' death by Gale.

"I am  _not_  trying to steal anything from you! You can't or won't forgive me for Katniss' death and so you see me only the way you want to. I tried to save Katniss!"

Peeta wavered on her name as he remembered how much she sacrificed for him in the games. He was back in that clearing, holding her body in his arms as she choked on her own blood. She had believed in Peeta and thought he could become something greater. She had worked to protect him and what had he done since the games? Surely nothing to live up to the expectations she had placed on his shoulders. Instead he pined for his lover and fought with her best friend while ignoring his growing reputation in the community as a leader. It was too much.

"You should have tried harder! You should have done more! You should have teamed up with her, instead you abandoned her for some  _career._ " Gale sneered the word and Peeta fell back into the tree behind him like Gale had physically struck him. He felt his eyes sting and he was unable to staunch the flood of images. Images of carrying Katniss weak and dying in his arms, of her dying against his chest as he sang to her The Hanging Tree, of laying a wreath of flowers around her lifeless body.

Peeta felt numb and disoriented, had he abandoned her? Could he have done more to save her? Did he fail his district partner? He licked his dry lips and tasted the salt of his own tears. He had not even realized they'd flooded over and escaped the captivity of his eyelids.

"I—I… you're right Gale. I failed her. I should have done more. I miss her every day and what is worse are some days I even envy her, because she got to die in that Arena. For her it's over, all the suffering, oppression, the hate and pain inflicted by the Capitol continues for us and for her she is finally at rest…" Peeta pulled himself back up from against the rough tree trunk and pushed firmly against Gale's chest as he laid out his last point before he deflated, all his fight lost. "But I do deserve better and frankly I expected better from someone whom Katniss called a friend. She didn't just hand that title out to anyone."

Peeta then planted himself back down on the cold hard earth in resignation. He was done. There was nothing more to be said between them. It seemed they were doomed to be irreconcilable. Gale remained silent, his face frozen in a mixture of disbelief and confusion, before he rested his bow on the dry earth and surprisingly took a seat across from Peeta. Peeta analyzed him closely, waiting for the gimmick to be exposed. Thankfully the tears had stopped flowing, although his eyes were still ominously wet. He would have thought by now that Gale would have left him with one last stinging retort, giving as good as he got, but instead he picked at the caked mud on his boot and avoided Peeta's eyes.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, it was so quiet Peeta would have been unsure anything had been said at all except for the fact that now Gale was holding eye contact with Peeta and looking truly repentant. His strong and masculine face, which usually held such harsh frown lines and stares when in Peeta's presence, was softened and youthful. Peeta was reminded in this instance that Gale was only a year older than him, but due to the way he always treated Peeta, often in a scolding manner, Gale felt much older than him.

"I'm sorry, Peeta. You're right, completely and utterly. I'm such an asshole." He brushed his large calloused miner's hands over his face with dejection.

"You're not the enemy. The fucking Capitol ruins lives and takes everything we love. I just needed something real to hate and I guess I chose you, which was completely unfair. I can't believe I never thought of it until now, but you lost Katniss too, out in those games and that can't have been easy."

Peeta watched Gale as his expressions flickered from one emotion to the next in an endless tug-of-war. He seemed unable to decide what he wanted to feel as anger, sympathy, misery, and regret all traded places with the handsome features of his face. Peeta had already run out of words by now so he reached out with his hand and laid it across Gale's knee. He hesitated when Gale's sharp eyes focused on their connection, but when he said nothing Peeta knew he had accepted the touch. They shared a common bond in the death of Katniss and few others could truly appreciate the grief they held over it. Peeta was hopeful, for the first time in a while, that maybe a page had turned in their relationship.

"It wasn't." Peeta finally spoke.

Gale looked at Peeta questioningly with bloodshot eyes from the way he fiercely rubbed them with his palm.

"I mean… losing her in the arena. H-holding her through her last breath. I've never had to do anything as hard as that. It's a t-terrible burden to have to be the one that guides someone through their final moments. You could never be prepared for it and what—what if it wasn't good enough? What if you could have done more, to make it an easy transition?" Peeta paused as he felt a tremor in his heart. He hated how he had some alien Capitol technology in his body and how his heart was a constant reminder of it. It made him feel violated, like the most basic and important piece of his anatomy had turned against him. Gale watched him with an astute look trying to decipher Peeta's break.

Peeta continued, "But it can't have been easy for you to watch, unable to do anything to stop it. No position is enviable, Gale, and I think instead of blaming one another we should lean on each other. Maybe even though we lost Katniss we can still find a way to keep her alive between us."

Gale placed his hand over Peeta's, which was still resting against his knee, and he smiled at Peeta. It was the first time Peeta had been on the receiving end of Gale's smile and it was disorienting in its enveloping warmth and tenderness.

"You're a better man than I, Peeta Mellark. I don't know if I were in your shoes if I'd have been able to treat me with such kindness and compassion after the way I acted towards you. It's not right." Gale remarked with a soft voice that Peeta still found uncharacteristic of him as he was so used to their short and terse, if not outright aggressive, interactions.

"I know there's a good man in you too, Gale. The way you sacrifice everything for your family is enviable. Don't put yourself down." Peeta slipped his hand out from under Gale's sensing an end to their encounter and the afternoon in general. Gale readjusted the position of his hand and coughed with embarrassment. Peeta suppressed a smile. "I think it's time I headed back. I hope you catch something soon, but if not… well you know I'm always happy to help."

Gale stood with Peeta and nodded. "Thank you, Peeta. I mean it, for not giving up on my family and I. I know you got my mother hired by Haymitch."

Peeta packed away his sketchbook and shrugged nonchalantly. "I do not know what you are talking about." Peeta replied, but this time he couldn't suppress the smile that spread across his pink lips.

"Uh huh," Gale said knowingly while bending to collect his bow and arrow from the ground. Then headed across the frozen creek towards where the doe had escaped. "I'll see you soon, Peeta."

Peeta waved and then headed back towards the fence with a strong sense of satisfaction. With each day that passed and the closer he got to his reunion with Cato for the Victory Tour things seemed to be looking up and getting better. He was on his way to a mended relationship with his father and now it seemed as if maybe Gale and he could actually be friends. He wondered if maybe things didn't have to be so damn dark and depressing anymore…

After eating a quick supper he begrudgingly pulled on his heavy coat and boots before heading out the door towards the Peacekeeper Village. He had promised he would go with an open mind, but as the sun crept below the towering mountains and the cold wind slapped his face he found it hard to keep himself from just turning around and ditching the meeting.

Except today had turned out to be quite a good day and he figured he might as well give this a shot. He needed to start taking a more active role in District 12. He may have become a celebrity in the Capitol for his popular romance on screen, but here in his home district he had become a hero and leader of something yet to be determined. He just had to find the right balance so as not to draw more attention to himself from President Snow. Meeting with a gay support group didn't seem too mutinous.

The Peacekeeper Village happened to be close to Victor's Row making Peeta's journey through the cold and encroaching dark a short one. Once reaching the end of Victor's Row he headed left a short ways towards the town Square and Justice building but stopped short of entering the square and instead headed to the left on a side street composed of relatively large single story homes for the Peacekeepers, the largest one being at the end of the block for the head Peacekeeper Cray. If he wanted he could use this street as a short cut to reach the Seam, but he often went the long way to avoid the Peacekeepers. The wind was very noisy as it barreled down the street with a sharp howl. Peeta wrapped his coat tighter against his body and squinted to locate number four.

He found it easily enough. The front porch light was left on, probably to help all the members find the meeting place. Peeta approached the thick wooden door and rapped his knuckles against it. He thought he heard a reply shouted at him through the door, but the whine of the wind made it indecipherable. So he knocked once more and heard another shout. Peeta assumed it must mean for him to come in. He tested the knob and sure enough it was unlocked.

The door shut out the cold wind behind Peeta as he entered the cozy and warm home of Darius.

"Darius?" He called out and hesitated in the hallway unsure of where he should go.

"I'm just preparing some food. Make yourself at home, Peeta!" Darius shouted from what Peeta assumed was the kitchen.

Upon spotting a fireplace to his right Peeta quickly headed towards it with the intent of warming his hands and body with it's delicious heat. As he held his hands near the flickering flames of the fireplace and felt the warmth creep up his finger tips returning them to life he also felt a creeping sensation up the back of his neck. As the troubling sensation rose up his spine to his neck, so did his soft blonde hairs.

Trying to place the odd feeling Peeta looked around the sparsely decorated room. There was a stained couch positioned near the fireplace and a coffee table with a stack of papers on it. There were two uncomfortable looking wooden chairs on the opposing side of the coffee table. Towards the front of the house underneath the window stood another table with framed pictures and a small electronic device that might have been a personal camera. Peeta had never seen one so he wasn't sure. He neared the table to get a closer look at it, but his eye got caught on the framed photo. It was quite disorienting to see the photo here. He knew the Capitol sold memorabilia and photo's from the games as collectables, but to find one of them here, at Darius' place was odd to say the least. It was a photo of Peeta waving at the crowd as he walked across the stage for his interview. It was a stunning photo that captured the magic of his flaming tux and complimented Peeta handsomely, but seemed like a very unusual thing to have framed on a table.

Peeta's eyes scanned the rest of the photo's along the table and was downright disturbed to find all of them were framed pictures of him from the Hunger Games. The hairs on the back of his neck stood to full attention now as his eyes widened with each picture he glanced at. There was one Peeta knew Cato should have been in, but he was cut from the picture. The most terrifying one was the last photo on the table. It was a personal picture that Darius must have taken with the camera. It was a photo of Peeta painting in his self-made art studio.

"What the…" Peeta gasped.

He backed away from the table and turned around to quickly head towards the door only to find Darius blocking the entryway and watching him with a crooked smile. How long had he been watching him Peeta did not know. His eyes scanned down Darius' right arm to the gun held firmly in his hand and Peeta's stomach churned. That was finally when Peeta realized they were alone. No one else was here. There was no meeting for a gay support group happening tonight. There might not have even been a gay support group. It was all probably just a ploy. No, Peeta was on his own and now facing a frightening Darius whose smile seemed to grow in size until it cannibalized his face.


	5. Capital Threats

Ch. 5 – Capital Threats

Peeta had survived the Hunger Games; he killed people with his bare hands. He watched the life flicker from a person's eyes. He tore open the stomach of a kid. He speared a girl through the chest. He never wanted to be involved in the horrors of death and bloodshed again. But he thought he should at least be used to it, numb to violence and fear. Instead he stood paralyzed at the sight of Darius, his carnivorous smile, and silver gun that glinted in the light. Peeta's breath was ragged from the threat of violence that loomed thick in the air like a suffocating cloud of smoke.

But maybe it was because this was different. Peeta knew what it was like to come face-to-face with an attacker. Stasson hunted him relentlessly throughout the games. But this was no ordinary hunt. Peeta was Darius' prey, but he was not hunting to become victor and survive. He wanted Peeta alive. He had plans for Peeta. He had followed him and stalked him and yet his intentions were still a mystery to Peeta and that was probably the most terrifying part along with the fact that he had never been held hostage at gunpoint. He'd never even seen a gun up close until now, but their capabilities were all too well known. He knew how to handle facing an attacker who wanted him dead. So why did Darius lure him here under false pretenses?

Peeta regained some control of his motor functions and hesitantly stepped a foot backwards. The movement must have broken the spell that had frozen both them in place; Peeta in fear and Darius basking in the moment of having finally caught his mouse.

"Don't you try anything now," Darius said with a casual flick of his gun to emphasize the consequence of disobedience.

Peeta reflexively held his hands up in surrender and asked in a friendly voice, "Come on now, Darius. What are you doing? Was there ever even a support group?"

Peeta thought just maybe if he could get him to talk there might be a way out of this. Darius didn't look like he wanted to hurt Peeta; he just had what seemed like a very unhealthy obsession.

"I knew you wouldn't come easy, but I had to try, try and have you for myself. Before you became defiled by those Victor collectors in the Capitol," Darius whispered with grave intonations.

It was like there was ice running through Peeta's veins. Each time Darius spoke it sent a cold spike of fear throughout his system. Peeta racked his brain to find a way out of this situation. He could just go along with it, but no one knew he was here. How would they ever find him?

"Come, Peeta. I've prepared a nice dinner."

He stepped to the side of the doorframe and motioned with his wrist, the one holding the gun, for Peeta to head through it and down the hall towards his dinning room. Peeta's feet felt heavy and slow like he was wading through molasses as he moved towards the hallway. When he passed by Darius he averted his eyes, not wanting him to see the fear behind them, but he couldn't stop himself from hearing the large intake of breath Darius made, inhaling as much of Peeta's scent as he could get. Peeta's stomach knotted in sickening discomfort. He glanced towards the door, his salvation, just behind Darius.

"Ah, ah, ah. Don't even think about it," Darius warned as he pushed the tip of his gun into Peeta's back and propelled him forward.

Peeta turned into the dinning room and found a hot meal waiting on the scratched wood surface of the rectangular table. He had prepared a whole chicken and it made Peeta want to gag. What a willful waste of food in a district full of starving children. Then his eyes caught site of one of the chairs where a piece of rope lay coiled and ready to incapacitate Peeta. He froze in his spot as he tried desperately to form a plan for escape. His eyes darted from the latched windows to the other doorway leading to the kitchen and then all over the surface of the cracked dining table.

"Move, that chair, now."

Darius shoved at Peeta's back again, but this time he refused to move. Darius reached with stubby fingers and gripped Peeta's shoulder roughly, forcing him towards the chair in a jolting motion.

"I do like it when they fight back. That's the reason I chose you; fell for you. For your fight in the games…" He trailed off as if reminiscing about the good old days and Peeta shuddered.

Darius forced him down into the seat, hands pawing at him with too much pleasure. Then he started looping the rope around the base of the chair and up over Peeta's lap. Peeta's pulse began to skyrocket. This was his last chance to escape otherwise he'd be bound to this chair for who knows how long or what Darius would do to him in it. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his back as the anxiety built.

Unexpectedly Peeta dove into action, moving on pure adrenaline and flash memory of what it was like to fight for his life in the arena. His hand shot out towards the table and grabbed the nearest item he could get his hands on and then in a singular and swift movement, brought the glass plate down on Darius' head, which was bent down by his side. The glass crashed against his head with a harsh thud and cracked in two from the impact. Darius cried out in surprise and pain as he fell to the ground, a trail of blood working it's way down the side of his temple.

Peeta struggled against the rope until his body slipped free. Then he knocked the chair and table over as a diversion and way to put obstacles between Darius and himself. But Darius was fast and up on his feet in seconds, leaping over the fallen furniture and chasing Peeta down the hallway.

"STOP!" He shouted.

But Peeta refused to stop moving. He tore down the hallway in a frenzied run. The door was only a few more feet away, where freedom awaited him and then soon he would be free of the terror and captivity that Darius threatened. His hand reached the door handle and wrapped around it, pulling it open, the warm air being sucked out into the cold howling wind outside as—

CRACK.

An ear splitting shot rang out as a searing hot pain pierced Peeta's right side. He stumbled and fell down the few steps leading up to the front door. He landed hard against the frozen dirt road. Peeta cried out in pain and for help, but the foul wind just carried it away to the mountains in the distance, never to be answered.

Peeta panted with harsh breaths as he rolled onto his back and clamped a hand to the rights side of his stomach. He clenched his teeth and a ragged scream tore from his throat. Hot blood gushed from the bullet whole in his lower stomach, warming his hands against the frosty night air.

"Look what you made me do!" Darius howled in frustration.

He stood at the entrance to his door watching Peeta with a pained expression, like he had just shot himself in the foot. Peeta tried to use his left arm to scoot him backwards and away from his attacker, but he was only able to manage to pull himself a foot or so across the road, leaving a smeared trail of his own blood as Darius took deliberate and slow steps down the stairs towards Peeta.

"Let's get you back inside and cleaned up. I promise I'll make it all better, sweet, sweet Peeta," Darius cooed like he was talking to something that was utterly precious to him.

"You're mad!" Peeta yelled at Darius, causing him to flinch.

Darius's nostrils flared and his beard lifted up with his mouth in an offended sneer, the harsh lines of his face thrown into stark shadows by the light from his house, blood still trickling down the side of his face. He stalked closer to Peeta and then leaned down until his hot and polluted breath washed over Peeta, who danced dizzyingly in his mind from the loss of blood.

"The only thing mad is how much I care for you."

Darius then reached out and clamped down with crushing fingertips on Peeta's shoulder to pull him up. Peeta squawked meekly as he was ripped up to his unstable feet, but he accepted the opportunity given to him by Darius. Now that he was on his feet he slammed his shoulder into Darius and kicked the feet out from under him. Darius, taken by surprise, fell back on his ass, hands flailing as he tried to keep hold of Peeta, but failed.

Peeta didn't waste a second as he started running with a difficult limp down the street towards escape. The blood was now sluggishly leaking down his body, the thick warm liquid soaking everything. Peeta's right hand slipped against the copious amount of it to keep the pressure. He heard Darius hissing invectives as he quickly returned to his feet and chased after Peeta down the barren street.

Peeta didn't know where to go. Peacekeeper homes lined the street, but he wasn't sure if he could trust them, they liked to protect each other. So instead he continued pushing his body towards the Seam. He hoped he could lose Darius in the overpopulated and tightly packed shacks.

"Peeta!" Darius shouted after him and it sounded like he was gaining, which wasn't a surprise in Peeta's condition.

The road slanted downwards towards a ditch on the side as the separating line between the Peacekeepers village and the start of the Seam. Peeta stumbled and fell down into the trench. He bit his tongue trying to refrain from crying out in pain, but he managed to stay silent and low as he heard Darius ran past along the road with heavy footsteps.

It seemed like even though the sun had set it was still getting darker. It took Peeta a moment to realize he might be losing consciousness with the steep loss of blood. He had to act fast or he'd surely be dead, if he didn't bleed to death he'd surely freeze over night. He clawed at the embankment of the ditch and strained his muscles to drag himself up the other side. His wounded stomach scraped over the loose dirt and mixed with his wound, sticking to the blood in clumps. Desperation began to fill him up like water rising in a bathtub, close to spilling over. He needed to get to Mrs. Everdeen; she would be able to fix him.

Frantic eyes tried to fight off the darkness that encroached from the outer edges of his sight as he searched the outskirts of the Seam to get his bearings. The Everdeen's house would be further in and north. He could hear the frustrated sounds of Darius as he looped back around and Peeta knew he had to move now or be caught. He limped into the thick of the decrepit houses that occupied the Seam and disappeared from the line of sight of the road just as Darius ran by and swore in fury.

"FUCK! Peeta, why are you doing this to me?" Darius yelled with a lover's devastation.

Peeta continued towards his destination relieved to have finally lost his captor. His bones ached and his stomach throbbed as blood continued to flow out the hole at a sluggish pace. His mind gradually began weaving incomplete thoughts through his head as his eyesight grew topsy-turvy with fatigue from the blood loss. He was lost. Panic tried to breach his mind, but it was padlocked as the disorientation of his brain threw out all sane thoughts and feelings.

Pain flared on his nose and the dry bitter taste of dirt filled his mouth. He took stock that he was now laying on the ground. He couldn't remember falling, but he was pretty sure his nose had now joined in on the bleeding. Peeta's extremities began to go numb with the cold and he was loosing the will power to keep his right hand pressed against the wound. Then he noticed his right hand was up by his head, not even trying to staunch the flow of blood anymore.

Time drifted disjointedly. Blackness swarmed over his vision. Was that a gasp? Is someone here? He tried to open his eyes, but they already were and staring at a dead turkey a few feet in front of him. That didn't make sense. His mind was toying with him.

"Peeta! Peeta, what happened?" A frantic and familiar voice begged as he was lifted upright.

"—Everdeen," Peeta managed to moan.

Then he was suddenly raised up in the air and carried in a jolting sprint by his savior. He tried to get his eyes to focus, but they continued to stay blurry and shrouded as if he was looking through a black veil. He was able to make out the dark blue eyes of his savior. A dark blue that often looked black when he was angry and Peeta knew that change in color all to often until today. It was Gale. He must have returned from hunting. With the knowledge that he was safe Peeta allowed himself to be pulled under into the sweet bliss of unconsciousness.

"AHHHH!" Peeta woke up screaming until his throat was hoarse and he couldn't breath.

The pain was unbearable and he tried to flail about, to attack whoever was digging around inside his wound touching and tugging against the torn muscle and flesh. But hands held him down from various directions as a woman shouted.

"Keep him steady, I can't do this if he is thrashing, I could injure him further."

Tears slipped from Peeta's eyes as he whimpered. He could see Primrose holding one of his legs and glittering tears in her eyes as well. Then Gale's face came into view as Peeta noticed Gale was holding down both of his arms.

"Look at me, just look at me. Try to match my breathing. It will be over soon. They don't have any morphling, but she has to clean out your wound and then stitch it up," Gale talked to Peeta in a calm and soothing manner.

"I think I've cleaned it as best I can. I'm going to start stitching now."

Gale held Peeta's eyes and imbued him with his own strength as Peeta bit down on his lip and tried to ignore the piercing pain and tug of flesh as Mrs. Everdeen threaded his wounded tissue together. Each time the needle punctured his raw and wounded skin he flinched and bile tickled the back of his throat as he felt the thread pulled through his skin and stitched together tightly.

"You're lucky the bullet went clean through, so once your stitched up you can rest. You'll need antibiotics to fight infection though," Mrs. Everdeen supplied in a clinically calm voice as she worked to stitch his skin closed. For such a fragile women she held it together better than most in a medical crisis.

Gale, now confident that Peeta wouldn't try and thrash about anymore, rested his hand on Peeta's chest, right over his heart and then held Peeta's hand to his heart. "Feel my heart beat? Try and calm yourself to match it."

Peeta felt the steady pulse of Gale's heart and he took deep shuddering breaths through his nose and out his mouth as he tried to reign in his riotous heartbeat. The feel of Gale's heart pumping slow and steady against Peeta's limp hand helped guide his breaths and blanket him in comfort from the pain his body was experiencing.

Slowly and surely his heartbeat fell within a normal range, the stabbing of the needle and the sickly feeling of his flesh being tugged subsided as Mrs. Everdeen finished her stitching, and then Peeta's eyes started to drift shut, but his hand was still placed against Gale's heart. Gale tried to place it back down by Peeta's side when his eyes whipped open and he whimpered pitifully.

"N-no, don't leave me," Peeta croaked and then gripped Gale's hand with tensed muscles.

Peeta could hear Mrs. Everdeen telling Prim to let Peeta get his rest and shooing her to bed as she had school in the morning. Gale rubbed his rough and calloused thumb across Peeta's pulse-point on his hand until his grip relaxed again.

Then he asked in an edgy whisper, "Who did this to you, Peeta?"

Peeta lolled his head to the side with droopy and tired eyes. He stared at Gale for a moment before he could piece it together and then tell him.

"It was Darius… He became… obsessed. Tried to take me… hostage—"

Gale muttered a foul cry, his hand going tense this time and that was the last Peeta could remember as he slipped back into oblivion.

Peeta wasn't sure how much time had passed, but surely a few days. The first day after the gunshot he didn't remember much, but that it was groggy and painful and he popped a stitch that Mrs. Everdeen had to suture back up, which was just as terrible an experience the second time with no anesthesia. After that they didn't want to risk moving him to his home so they set him up in Prim's bed and she slept with her mom, which she probably did anyways since Katniss had died. His dad may have visited that first day too, but everything was so foggy and laced with a dull throb of pain it was hard to remember. He did recall how Gale came by each night after work in the mines to check on him. He told him how he went to Cray, the head Peacekeeper, and repeated to him what happened with Darius, who tried to deny it, but they found all the pictures of Peeta in his house and one of his bullets outside—all Peacekeeper ammunition is marked and tracked—so it was clear what had happened. Apparently after that Darius had been shipped off to the Capitol to be dealt with.

By the third night Peeta was feeling much better, but still exhausted and woozy, when Gale came by to check on him again. Prim was feeding him a bowl of soup her mom had just cooked up and Peeta was flying high from the Morphling that Haymitch had managed to find in the basement of his house. Peeta giggled relentlessly when Gale took the soup from Prim and tried to help feed him.

"Come on now, stop laughing and eat," Gale said with exasperation, but a hint of amusement in his crinkled eyes.

"Make choo-choo sounds, ha-ha," Peeta giggled like a child again and Gale just shook his head while Prim joined in on laughing.

Soon after eating Peeta found his hand clasped around Gale's dirtied coalminer one and he whispered, "Thank you, Gale."

"I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner."

Peeta wanted to respond but it was too late as he drifted off into a drugged and painless sleep filled with fantastic dreams. His favorite one was when he decided to jump into the air and fly out and away from District 12. He didn't stop flying until he arrived at District 2 and landed in front of Cato's house. He was antsy and giddy about the prospect of finally seeing his lover again. He ran towards the door and pounded against it repeatedly until he heard the latch being undone and the door opened inwards. Right before Cato's face was revealed on the other side he slipped from his dream and into the world of the living.

Birds could be heard, muffled through the walls, chirping their morning songs. Peeta's eyelids lit up in a pink fleshy color from the sun coming through the windows, but he wasn't ready to truly wake up just yet. He was happy to embrace the intangible space between waking and sleep. The space where all his feelings and faculties had yet to return to him and his mind drifted lazily through time and space with out consciously thinking. The pain had yet to set in again and his mind had yet to start gnawing at him with its unremitting memories: one's of blood and guts; guns and hammers; predatory smiles and eyes.

Slowly, but surely, his sense of being came back to life. It was almost a spiritual experience as he returned to his body, feeling the nerve-endings begin firing as awareness and a sense of his body's general position in the external world was restored. It was also when he realized he was still holding someone's hand. He remembered falling asleep holding Gale's hand now, but he should have been off to the mine's already. No one should be here truthfully. Prim should be at school and Mrs. Everdeen out doing house calls.

Peeta gave an experimental squeeze to the hand he was holding as he worked on opening his eyes and adjusting them to the light. That morphling really packed a punch and knocked him into a whole other world. No wonder people got so addicted to it, he thought.

The hand gave a squeeze back and Peeta's heart stuttered against the pacemaker's will. If his mind was not so foggy from the morphling he might have noticed sooner. His body could never forget. They were molded to fit together. His blood began to race and a strong heat crept up his neck. He thought he might be on the verge of a panic attack as his breathing also steadily increased.

"Peeta?" A voice spoke, deep and worried.

Finally he managed to get his eyes open, but they were paralyzed with fear. He was afraid to look over to see the face connected to the hand he held. He panted with a hyperactive breath. Was it real? Was he only imagining it? What if it was the morphling? He couldn't handle it, not after the past few days. But then that voice, the voice he had only heard in his dreams and over grainy telephone lines at scheduled times revealed the truth.

"Babe, it's okay."

He pointed his eyes up towards the ceiling and released a quivering breath. A tear slipped out and ran at an angle down his cheeks where two soft and large fingers swiped it away. Fingers he knew intimately. Peeta leaned into them, closed his eyes and then opened them, finally looking at the man next to his bed. His heart was on the brink of exploding with the love that had been contained, unable to go anywhere during their hellish exile.

"I'm here now and it's all going to be okay," Cato spoke in a sure and even tone.

Peeta was afraid this day would never come and he realized, no matter how much he tried to hold on to and remember his face, he could never get it right. The full glory of it was too much for his memory to contain: Cato's chocolate eyes and slender nose, strong jaw line and smooth unblemished skin. His chest felt heavy with the weight and emotion of the reunion, because it was real. Not dreamed or fantasized about. It was here and now, this moment, when Peeta was waking from a drugged sleep like Snow White to find his prince Charming waiting at his bed side. All that was left to complete the fairytale reunion was a kiss.

He couldn't find the words to speak, but his hand broke free of Cato's and fingered up his forearm, tickling the hairs they passed as they reached his tensed bicep and pulled him down. The concern in Cato's eyes disappeared with Peeta's intentions becoming evident and a smile hooked itself at the corners of his mouth as he lowered his head and connected their lips in a kiss of paradoxes; of fire and ice, of healing and suffering, of restraint and zeal, of joy and sadness.

Cato's tongue pushed through Peeta's moistened lips and reclaimed the mouth that was his. Cato swept along Peeta's teeth, traced his gum line and massaged his tongue, reacquainting himself with what had been denied to him for so long. Peeta hummed in the back of his throat with satisfaction and his body thrilled with the emotional release. The feel of Cato's lips on his was real, the heat from his skin and the staccato of his grunts were all Cato, impossible to be recreated in such vivid detail.

"C-Cato," Peeta stuttered out in a sob as he broke the searing kiss.

"Yes, babe. I'm here. It's real, it's real."

Cato rubbed his hands up and down Peeta's shoulders in a soothing manner, but Peeta could tell also because he didn't want to let go of him. Both afraid that if they by chance let go, even for a moment, the Capitol would only tear them apart again.

"I—I don't understand, how'd you get here?" Peeta asked with a grunt as he tried to get up into a sitting position.

"Careful," Cato warned as he pushed Peeta's hands away and helped lift him upright so he didn't have to strain anything. Then he answered, "The Victory Tour starts today, Peeta. Haymitch and Lyme tried to get me here earlier, but the Capitol wouldn't have it. They were able to make it so I got here in the morning instead of evening. They want to keep our time in District 12 limited for some reason."

Peeta had forgotten how close it was to the Victory Tours starting before Darius had attacked him, but either way everything was better now. The world could resume spinning again because Peeta was back with Cato. He took a moment to take stock of Cato. Almost everything seemed the same, his blonde hair styled with little care, his broad shoulders and chest; Peeta worked his hands over every inch he could touch, wishing to never forget what Cato felt like, solid and real in his grasp. The only difference was behind his eyes; there was sadness there, damage. Peeta knew the look all too well. He had the same look hidden behind his eyes, the memory of the Games having forever changed them and the forced separation inducing a profound melancholy.

"I guess that means my prep team is probably here. They're going to freak when they see the wound," Peeta sighed at the thought of his prep teams probable outlandish reaction to his stitched abdomen.

Cato visibly bristled at the mention of Peeta's wound and he could hear his teeth grinding as Cato growled.

"If that cretin hadn't been shipped off to the Capitol I'd find him and skin him alive for what he did. My god, to think I could have—have lost you and I wouldn't even have known it until the tour started!"

Peeta shushed him as he cupped Cato's face in his hands and forced him to hold eye contact.

"I'm fine. The stitches can come out in a few days and once we're at the Capitol Effie will have one of their doctors do a full check up on me, pacemaker, gun wound, all of it. So there's no reason to get worked up, okay?"

Peeta inclined his head questioningly until Cato unclenched his jaw and replied with a big gust of air.

"Okay…"

"Good, now help me up. I bet the prep team is waiting at my house. I'm tired of laying in this bed."

Cato obliged and didn't mention his wound again. Peeta had missed how they worked together so well. The implicit trust they placed in each other and the understanding they could come to fast and with out question. Almost six months had passed since the Hunger Games had ended and they had been together. It was insane to think that hey had only been together for some three odd weeks and yet they could slip back into their comfortable relationship like no time had passed at all.

As Cato helped Peeta hobble down the dirtied streets of the Seam towards Victors Village Peeta turned towards his boyfriend with a beaming smile.

"I love you."

A massive grin spread across Cato's face. He leaned in to kiss Peeta's temple and whisper against his ear with a warm and tingling breath that washed over Peeta's body down to his toes.

"And I love you."

Anyone they passed along the street basically came to a standstill to stare at the two Victors, together at last.

"This is surreal. I never got this much attention in District 2." Cato shook his head and laughed.

"Well you do win the games most of the time. Haymitch is the only other living winner from 12, so I'm kind of a big deal."

Cato barked with laughter at that and rested his head atop Peeta's dirty blonde locks, inhaling deeply. Even though Peeta had been shot and put through a hell filled three days things couldn't have been better now. His stomach purred with contentment and his mind floated at ease in his head, no longer beating down the doors with a battering ram trying to break his sanity with it's graphic memories and pain. Together they could keep their demons at bay.

An audible breath escaped Cato's lips as they left the Seam and entered the nicer market area of the District, which was still nothing much to boast about.

"The amount of poverty here, it—it's unbelievable. District 2 has nothing near comparable to this…" He trailed off as he stretched his neck to look back at the shacks they had left behind.

"I know. You see what a miserable life it is to grow up here? Why I might want to escape? There's not much happiness to be found."

Cato hugged Peeta closer to his body and he wished they could just meld together, so they would never have to be divided again. When they turned onto Victory Row Peeta noticed two armed Peacekeepers standing at attention by his front door. He had no clue what that was about, but he had a sinking feeling in his gut. Cato looked at him with perplexed eyes. Peeta just shook his head signaling for him to remain silent.

When they approached the front door the two guards stepped forwards and held out a hand to halt them.

"This is my house," Peeta stated, not amused.

"Just you will be allowed in. He'll have to wait out here," One guard said with a jut of his thumb towards Cato.

"I'm not—"

"—Stay here," Peeta interrupted Cato's protest. "I'll be fine. Don't make trouble."

Peeta then stepped away from Cato on unsteady feet and paused to take a deep breath before pressing forward on his own. Each time he brought down his right foot the wound throbbed painfully, but it was manageable and he could at least continue walking on his own.

When entering his house his nostrils flared at the abnormal scent they caught. He had smelled it once before, but not this powerful. It was when he was at the Capitol Circle where Cato and he were crowned winners of the games. It was an indecent smell, a mixture of blood and sickly sweet roses. He turned to his left and saw the living room was empty and then he turned to his right and saw a terrifying figure standing in his art studio studying the portrait of Cato.

"You have quite a gift, Mr. Mellark. It's a talent I'm sure that will get you far in the Capitol, I may just have to commission you to paint something for my palace."

President Snow then turned from the portrait to face Peeta with a sinister smile planted on his cushiony cheeks. His lips were blood red and his hair shock white and slicked back.

"Can I help you with something, President?" Peeta managed to ask.

The smile grew bigger.

"Yes, actually. You've started quite a fire, Peeta—do you mind if I call you, Peeta?" He paused to ask, but then kept going with out waiting for a response, confident in knowing he needn't ask in the first place. He could do as he pleases. "Not surprising, though, for the boy on fire," He rolled the last word around on his tongue like it gave him a foul taste. Then he motioned to one of Peeta's chairs as if it were his. "Please, have a seat. I know you must be in pain."

Peeta's eyes narrowed as he analyzed President Snow. Of course he knew of his injury. He made sure to clench his teeth and suffer through the pain with out limping as he walked to take a seat. He would not show weakness in the President's company. Snow's eyes glinted with a hint of sadism as he took a seat across from Peeta.

"I don't understand, a fire?" Peeta finally broached the topic for this unusual visit. President Snow never left the Capitol.

"You're a smart boy, Peeta. Let's not have any pretenses. I'm confident you knew what you were doing in those games. Some may be fooled into thinking you didn't know how rebellious your actions looked, but I'm not just anyone. You have lit the fuse to something that could very well burn this nation to the ground and I want you to help put it out before it's too late. Before lives are lost."

President Snow folded his fingers in his lap carefully and let the threat linger in the air. I refrained from looking at his cold, ice blue eyes and instead focused on the insulting tangerine colored handkerchief situated in the breast pocket of his cream colored suit.

"Haven't lives already been lost?" I asked. It was a dangerous question, but I wanted him to know they drew blood first. He was obviously worried of the power I wielded or he wouldn't have come personally to visit me.

'Hmm' was the only response he gave, before dangling the carrot.

"Peeta, if you can prove to me you have no ulterior motive, if you can temper the inflamed spirits of the districts, you may live in two with Cato…" He paused to let his words sink in.

Peeta kept a placid expression on his face, but internally his heart beat against his ribcage and his stomach did back flips in hope.

"… And because we have means of dealing with you if you refuse. Cato has family, a family survives Katniss, and you're just starting to mend fences with your father, are you not? It would be terrible if something were to happen just as things got better. Additionally, more people than just Darius are unstable, obsessive and can be tipped with the slightest of hand in your direction."

Peeta's throat went dry. There was no end to the Capitol's cruelty, to what they were willing to do. Snow was practically telling Peeta in no uncertain terms he set a psychotic stalker on him. He probably did it just as a test, not even meaning to hurt Peeta nor caring if he did, but just to see what methods he could use to rattle Peeta. Probably as a show of power too, to demonstrate to Peeta he not only had control over the Districts, but intimate control over its people.

"Okay."

"Come again?" Snow leaned forward, licking his cherry red lips.

"Okay, I'll try and stop the fire," Peeta replied monotone.

A wicked grin spread back across President Snow's face as he pushed up from his chair.

"Perfect," He purred. "Well good day to you, Peeta Mellark. I do hope you cherish your time together with Cato and think hard on what it could mean to fail in this endeavor…" Snow warned with a deep vibrato that saturated Peeta to his bones.

He gave Peeta one last parting glance and then swept from the room in an authoritative grandeur leaving in his wake the sickly scent of blood and roses.


	6. Fire Rising

Ch. 6- Fire Rising

"I just don't know how you could let yourself be fooled by such a man! You're a Victor now, one must be smart and diplomatic about these things at all times," Effie lectured Peeta as his prep team made quick work converting the bathroom into an on-the-fly remake center. A thick, pungent smelling paste was already being applied to the skin of his legs. It tingled with the light tickle of carbonated bubbles against the pores of his skin.

Effie's hair was now in viciously teased curls the color of turquoise with silver highlights that matched the silver feathered lashes she wore. Her vivacious attitude was ripe as ever as she near lost her mind over the discovery that a peacekeeper had shot and wounded her star Victor.

"A Victor does not just go off to someone's house with out an escort! Especially not in Twelve," she hissed the word like it should be explanation enough. Her perceptions of the fringe districts, having been molded from the safety and privilege of the Capitol, were filled with stereotypes and misconceptions. If one were to believe Effie, they would think District 12 was run amok with criminals and deviants.

Peeta was forced to bite his tongue from revealing the truth of the matter. That it wasn't just some District 12 loon, but a pawn of President Snow's, thrown his way with full intent of injury. Thankfully, Portia decided to make her appearance and slip into the vastly overcrowded bathroom to save Peeta.

"Effie, why don't you help me inventory Peeta's outfits for the tour? It would be of great help to me and I could use your opinion on a few things."

She winked at Peeta. God, he loved her. Of all the people to descend upon his home for the start of the Victory Tour, he was most glad to see Portia—besides Cato, of course.

"Oh, why yes of course! This is the biggest tour ever put on by the Capitol, what with two Victors, we can't have anything be amiss!" She gushed, clamping her bedazzled fingers on Portia's wrist and guiding her out like it was her idea all along.

It wasn't that hard to figure out how to pull Effie's strings. She was pretty simple, living to be the center of attention and compliments. If one made her feel even the slightest bit useful or needed she was putty in their hands.

Peeta laughed as he settled back into the recliner chair and resigned himself to let the prep team move in and do what they would with his body.

* * *

The sun set earlier in this District. It was bewildering to Cato to think that it was still mid-afternoon back home and yet here the sun was already working to fall behind the western mountains, leaving behind a chill in the air that was unfamiliar to him. Back at home the snow had melted with the beginning of March, giving way to the tentative warmth of springtime.

Cato paced the living room, unable to settle after the shock of seeing President Snow leave Peeta's home. Before he could go in to find out what that was all about, the insanity that was Effie Trinket and his prep team descended upon the house to style Peeta. Effie was just as outlandish as he remembered. His handler had a distinct Capitol style like most, but his personality was as bland as white rice whereas Effie demanded your attention for good or bad. He wasn't sure which yet.

Having already gone through all his prep on the train ride here, Cato was left with nothing to do while Peeta was made over. The discovery that Peeta had been injured was a shock he still hadn't gotten over—his blood still quick to boil at the thought of it. It brought back all the fear and helplessness he had felt when Peeta ate the nightlock like it was yesterday and worst of all he didn't find out about it until he was on the train.

Cato found his feet had carried him to a small room that might have been a study, but was converted into the art studio Peeta had mentioned. He wandered about the small room, taking in the few paintings left scattered about the room. It was surprising there were so few, Cato had been under the impression he had been painting non-stop from the conversations they'd had about his art. Yet now that he was here, there weren't too many finished canvasses to look at, except one. Cato's stomach knotted at the sight of the large portrait leaning against the wall in the corner. It was unmistakably a painting of Cato, painstakingly crafted in his likeness, but imbued with a terrible sense of loss. It made Cato's heart ache with the beauty and pain captured in the portrait.

The front door clicked open and a young girl with strikingly familiar hair and olive eyes raced inside. She did a quick survey of the house before her probing eyes settled upon Cato. They lit up with recognition and she suddenly launched forward enveloping Cato in a furious hug.

"Oh I can't believe you're finally here! Peeta's been terribly depressed without you! And you're even better looking in person!" She gushed, stepping back to look up at him as Cato stood about a foot taller than her at least.

"Well hey there, you must be Primrose," Cato surmised.

"I am!" Prim blushed with a suddenly bashful smile. Then she swiveled on her heel and skipped back to the entryway to grab the hand of another man who had entered without Cato noticing.

She tugged the man into the studio with much exuberance. He could tell why Peeta cared for her so much; it was hard not to be taken with her. She had her sister's fire, but with a more outgoing temperament. But Cato was currently more interested by the newest arrival. Who was this man?

Cato gave the guy a once over, taking in his matching height, the large width of his shoulders and lithe athletic body. He was wholesomely attractive. He still held the smudges of coal on his fingertips despite the effort it looked like he took to clean up, leaving an aura of gruff masculinity that bristled Cato. He noticed the man was staring back with an equally analytical eye.

"Aren't you going to introduce yourself?" Prim prodded the man in the side, which seemed to break the tension. He moved forward to shake Cato's hand with an unwavering confidence.

"Gale, s'good to finally meet you," Gale said huskily.

"I wish I could say the same, but I'm sorry to say I haven't heard much about you, Gale," Cato replied, pulling his hand back to his side.

"That'd be my fault. I was kind of an asshole—well, not kind of—but Peeta and I worked out the misunderstanding recently. We're good now."

He seemed genuine enough to Cato.

"About time, too!" Prim cut in with a roll of her eyes. Cato could see the spark of Katniss in the gesture and smiled.

Gale cracked the beginnings of smile too and slung an arm around Prim's side, ruffling her hair and pulling her tight against him. She just sighed, obviously discontent with the child-like treatment.

Before Cato could think of a reply, there was a commotion in the hallway as Peeta's entourage headed down the stairs. Cato rushed into the hallway so as to no longer be deprived of his boyfriend's presence when both Haymitch and Lyme entered the doorway too. Gale and Primrose followed close behind.

"My, my these Victor homes are awfully small!" Effie said with a mouthful of distaste. If only she had seen the shacks in the Seam, where Cato found Peeta earlier, she might not be so tactless. "Out, out! Everyone!" She shooed everyone with her hands. "It's time we headed to the Mayor's house anyways."

* * *

"I thought Gale hated you?"

Peeta looked up from studying the marble floor behind the entry doors to the Justice building startled from his thoughts. They were waiting just inside the double steel doors before the Mayor called them out for the Victory Tour to finally start. There would be speeches, unnecessary festivities, and a banquet with the Mayor; so it was all terribly off-putting for Peeta as he knew he would have to play along, bask in the glory of it all and pretend not an ounce of rebelliousness flowed within his veins.

President Snow's words still hung heavy in his head. The blatant threats and promise of a happily ever after with Cato if he could just quell the rising spirits of the districts. He still hadn't told the others, and he wasn't sure if he should. Cato never acted with the intent of defiance like Peeta, so if he just let him continue playing the loving boyfriend as he already were, it might seem more genuine.

"Peeta?" Cato nudged him in the shoulder.

"Sorry, just got lost in thought. What?"

"Gale. I thought you two hated each other?"

"Oh, yeah we worked that out. He was hurting over Katniss's death and I was an easy outlet." Peeta explained with disinterest. He was filled to the brim with so many worries there wasn't room to add anymore at the moment.

"Sounds like a good guy," Cato grumbled, straightening and looking forward as the crowd could be heard cheering on the other side.

Peacekeepers flanked them on either side to escort them onto the stage when the Mayor introduced them. He could be heard on the sound system now, playing up the Capitol's 'benevolence'.

"He is," Peeta replied in earnest, looking over Cato's face. "He saved my life."

The doors were flung open by two Peacekeepers and the setting sun burst through in a blinding brilliance of rays, its final parting gift before it settled behind the mountains for the night.

The bug-like pods of two camera people were trained on them as they walked on the stage. Peeta couldn't believe he forgot what it was like to be on national television, the nerves that set off along his skin like a tickle of feathers.

"…Cato Ryves of District 2, and our very own Peeta Mellark of District 12!" The Mayor boomed into the microphone as the victorious couple stepped forward to claim their spotlight.

It was a humbling experience to see the whole of District Twelve spread out before Peeta—for Peeta. They quietly rooted for him as if he were their champion and it was like a small knife gouged into his heart, knowing what he meant to some and the promise he had made to Snow not to stand up for them. Cato's hand slipped into his and kept him steady. His thumb rested against the pulse-point on Cato's wrist, and his pacemaker worked his heart in tune with Cato's. They were finally reunited. That was what mattered. He just had to keep reminding himself of it.

While the Mayor prattled on about how amazing they are and how wonderful the Capitol was for showering them with its good graces Peeta took in those in the crowd. He saw many faces he recognized. Some had frequented the bakery when he worked there, others he knew from school, and even more that had sought him out since his return to congratulate or thank. Near the front Peeta spotted Gale with the rest of his family and the Everdeens. Peeta was surprised to see the Mayor's daughter Madge also standing next to him. She seemed awfully close to him. He hadn't realized they knew each other.

Cato's hand fell from his as he stepped to the microphone to begin his speech. Peeta watched his shoulders roll, ironing out the kinks of his muscled back before he addressed the crowd. Peeta anxiously awaited the speech, wondering what he would say and how he would address the crowd.

"I never knew what it really meant to be a volunteer in these Games until I met Peeta," Cato began. His voice was steady and unwavering in its confidence. Peeta greatly envied the masks he could slip on before a crowd, if he could only do the same then maybe they wouldn't be in this mess with the Capitol.

"District Two often has volunteers step forward, like myself, but Peeta was different. He taught me of the selflessness rooted in the act, of the courage it takes. How it means something more than riches and glory. And so I want to say thank you, to the people of District Twelve, for giving the country and I such a tribute, for giving us two fighter spirits in Katniss and Peeta. He changed me for the better and every day I am moved by his compassion and spirit. It's the spirit of Twelve that I saw in Katniss, and I see it alive and well in him, and all of you. Thank you."

Peeta was stunned. The crowd might have been too, as there was a delay between the end of his speech and then the abrupt outburst in applause. Peeta couldn't remember such a reaction from his district before at any Victory Tour.

Peeta smiled warmly at Cato as he returned to his side and gave his hand a quick squeeze. He hoped it told Cato everything he couldn't in the moment; how much those words meant to him.

Then just as quickly it was time for Peeta's speech and his throat went dry. He didn't know what he would say or how he could follow Cato. His wound gave a painful throb as he stepped toward the microphone and reminded him of the Capitol's oppression—along with Snow's threats. What should he say? What did they expect of him? It was too much.

"I want to thank the Capitol for—" Peeta broke off to clear his throat. "—For making this possible. And thank you all for your support and love during the games…" Peeta was prepared to go generic; to temper the flames sparking to life from Cato's speech. But then his eyes settled upon Riece Wilshurn—the young boy he had volunteered in place of—and his resolve broke before the iron fist of defiance that rose in his chest with a fiery spirit he couldn't control. "I know your hearts broke just as much as mine did when Katniss was lost to us in the Games. Your bread saved me—us." Peeta turned to motion back at Cato who was smiling brilliantly. "Katniss's death was not in vain, nor was it meaningless. None of this was. We changed the game. I live on for her now and all of you. Hope lives on even in the harshest of settings. You gave me hope. You gave me my fuel. Thank you for your fire….and thank you for your bread."

As soon as he finished, Peeta knew he had royally fucked up. He just completely disregarded everything Snow had asked of him and he had even gone against his own promise not to put them in anymore danger after the Hunger Games. But then he remembered what Katniss gave her life for, an idea represented in Peeta. Which was right? Peeta couldn't begin to fathom, but his gut seemed to have made a clear decision and now the consequences were his to own.

The crowd did not cheer for Peeta like they did Cato; instead they raised the three-finger salute in silent respect. Peeta backed away from the stage, unsure what to do next or how to handle their display. He noticed even Prim and Gale with their hands defiantly raised, Madge and Mrs. Everdeen, Mrs. Hawthorne and her children.

Then a whistle sounded out from the crowd. It was a hauntingly familiar tune like the whisper of a ghost reaching from beyond the grave to remind them of its truth. It was the melody of the Hanging Tree and Peeta's eyes immediately honed in on the instigator who whistled it. It was young Riece.

The tune grew into a chorus of whistles as more joined, echoing across the town square. Peeta's stomach dropped out from under him and a hand slapped against his shoulder tugging him backwards, away from the stage. Fear flooded his system like ice as Peacekeepers flooded the stage like a swarm of sterile insects and everyone was scuttled from the stage. Peeta couldn't see Cato. He must have already been taken back inside. The crowd surged forward and a scream pierced the night sky begging for mercy. It lashed at Peeta like a lance to the gut. A growing sense of urgency and dread descended on the assembly. Angry shouts and cries began to join in as the situation deteriorated quickly. The carefully architected atmosphere of celebration and joy crumbled like the thin pastry crust it was built upon.

The camera crew was gone, done recording. They had probably stopped a long time before when Peeta got too defiant in his speech.

Peeta struggled against the Peacekeeper shoving him back. He had to see what was happening. Were Prim and Gale okay? Was his family here? He dug his heels against the wood of the stage, trying to stall the Peacekeeper and locate his friends. The Peacekeeper shouted at him, but it was unintelligible as the sounds around him grew deafening. Men and women were shouting in anger and fear. A woman was sobbing. A line of Peacekeepers moved forward and pushed back against the crowd.

An elbow crushed into Peeta's stomach and he doubled over in pain, breath expelled from his lungs. Tears beaded at the corner of his eyes as the Peacekeeper dragged him back into the Justice Building now that there was no resistance. The last thing he saw was a Peacekeeper un-holstering his gun as another climbed on stage holding a kicking and screaming child. It was Riece. His face was streaked with tears and red with exertion. All the blood drained from Peeta's face as he struggled to gather air in his lungs.

Then the doors slammed closed, cutting his line of sight to Riece. A few beats went by in silence as everyone in the Justice building collected themselves, stunned by the turn of events. Then a single shot rang out and a roar erupted from the crowd.

"NO!" Peeta cried with a chest finally full of air.

"Peeta!" Cato shouted, fighting his way through the dense throng of people. "Peeta!"

Haymitch got to Peeta first. He clutched Peeta's shoulder with an ironclad grip like he was afraid Peeta would disappear before him.

"They're taking us to the train. Now. The rest of the festivities for Twelve have been canceled. Let's go and don't try anything foolish."

He then slung an arm around Peeta and guided him through the mass of frightened politicians towards Cato, who was being held back by Lyme. His handler and Effie were standing by looking properly befuddled. A contingent of Peacekeepers swarmed around them and quickly escorted them out the back of the Justice Building.

Once outside it was the difference between day and night. The last remnants of light had faded from the skyline and a sharp frost nipped at Peeta's cheeks as screams and violent outbursts polluted the night air. It wasn't right. It wasn't how his home should sound—depressed and subdued, yes, but panicked and pained, no. People ran by, terror clearly etched on their faces. Children cried as their parents sheltered them in their arms, scurrying to safety.

Light flickered in the distance behind them in abnormal movements and then the smell of smoke reached Peeta's nose and he knew it was fire. Something was burning in the town square. Another crack rang out, but this time Peeta wasn't sure if it was a gunshot or the crack of plywood warped by fire.

What have I done? Peeta thought. Fear gnawed at his skin like an army of ticks, trying to burrow its way deep into his flesh where he might never be rid of it. The Peacekeepers moved at a brutal pace, trying to move the Victors and their entourage to the trains as quickly as possible before the situation deteriorated further. Haymitch tried to carry Peeta's weight as best as possible so that he could keep up. Cato slid up on his other side and together they worked to move Peeta with the now brisk jog to the train station two blocks away. Peeta thought he felt warm blood trickling down his side from the wound, but all he could focus on was the growing sounds of violence they were leaving behind.

Half an hour later and they were on the train already miles from District Twelve. It shot like a glimmering silver bullet through the untamed and uncharted wilderness that surrounded district 12. Peeta stared out a window wondering how there could be so much space and tranquil serenity around him and then the terror that he left behind. Could the two things possibly live in the same space, side-by-side? He felt sick just at the thought of what might be occurring in his home district, knowing he would never forgive himself if Riece was dead, if Prim or Gale or any of their family hurt. If his father was taken from him before he even had a chance to discover what it was like to be a son.

Cato sat across from him, eyeing him speculatively, but letting Peeta stew for the moment. Effie had sputtered ineffectually for the better part of ten minutes before Haymitch had kicked out of the train car. Portia tried to bring him food, but he didn't want any as the despair settled in him like a dropped anchor.

Then Snow's threats against his family and friends surfaced in his mind and he was reminded who was responsible for all of this: the Capitol. Peeta shot up from his seat, ignoring the twinge in his re-stitched stomach.

"Peeta? What's wrong?" Cato asked, rising to his feet in worry.

Peeta just shook his head and looked pointedly at Haymitch.

"Not here."

Haymitch seemed to understand as he stood and motioned for them to follow. They went out the back of the train car and gathered on the platform between the two rail cars outside. The wind howled by with the speed of the train and the velocity at which the ground passed beneath their feet was nauseating.

"What are we doing out here?" Cato asked with a slight green pallor to his face. He seemed nauseated by the sway of the platform and the blurring of the passing scenery.

"We should be free of eavesdroppers here," Haymitch said.

It was tough to hear over the sound of the wind, but that was the price they had to pay for safety from prying ears.

"Snow visited me earlier today."

"What?" Haymitch asked with a slight slur. He had already gotten into the train's stock of scotch. Cato already knew and waited patiently for the point.

"The gist is he threatened me. He threatened to harm all of you, anyone I care about if I don't help him temper the rebellious spirits of the districts, but I think I've already fucked that up. He said if I did well I could live in Two." Peeta couldn't bear to look at Cato when he said that, not wanting to see the look of disappointment on his face knowing that Peeta kept this from him and then destroyed their best chance at happiness before they even had a shot at it.

But Cato didn't seem upset. Instead he just asked, "So what do we do now?"

Haymitch contemplated in silence for a minute. Peeta held onto the railing for stability, but his bones jittered with the vibrations from the train—or maybe it was nerves.

"It seems there is only one option. Snow obviously knows of your true nature, that I have no doubt of, but we can try to convince everyone else that it's just love driving the two of you." Haymitch surveyed both of them intently. "So one of you will have to propose."

Peeta was not sure what he was ready for, but that was the last suggestion he saw coming. He didn't know how to respond. I mean of course I want to marry Cato, one day… Peeta thought, but this was not the way he wanted it to go down.

"I'll do it."

"What, no let's talk about this first!" Peeta protested.

"What's there to talk about? They think we're leading an insurrection. Even those in my home district believe it. This is the only way to show that we're just two guys, in love and desperate to be together, not encouraging an uprising."

Peeta couldn't understand how he was so calm about this. There was nothing calm about this or any situation in the past week.

"I just…" Peeta saw both men looking at him. Watching and waiting, like he had the final say. When had he become the decisive voice? He wasn't ready to have decisions like this rest on his shoulders. But then he looked up at the night sky and the thousands of twinkling stars that danced above him. He found his serenity in the moment and the resolve to move forward. He would do what he had to, if it kept Cato and his friends safe.

"Okay. Let's do it. Let's get engaged."


	7. Pomp and Circumstance

Ch. 7- Pomp and Circumstance

"We can do this. I know it. You and I, we can do anything."

Cato was spooning Peeta in bed; he was the little spoon tonight, which he preferred. That way Cato couldn't see his face, couldn't read the doubt and conflict playing out across it like a war. He wasn't as confident as Cato, wasn't as sure of their capabilities or that he even wanted it anymore.

No, Peeta didn't doubt them—their relationship—just whether he would be content to get through the Victory Tour and live the rest of his life in District 2 anymore. The whole reason they were even here, alive and on this train, was because of Peeta's drive for change. He was over the downtrodden existence and suffering inflicted on him in District 12 and so he volunteered. Then things snowballed until he was more than just a tribute from the coal mining district. He was a symbol for change. The Capitol had created the mockingjay, just like Peeta, and, like the mockingjay, he in turn defied their control, becoming something completely unintended.

What was the right choice anymore? Peeta didn't know.

"We'll trick Snow. We'll trick the people of Panem too, I know it!" Cato growled in Peeta's ear and shook his body in his large arms.

"Maybe…" Peeta breathed out lightly. He didn't want to contradict him, but he also could not agree so vehemently as him.

"No maybe about it," Cato grunted out.

"Of course." Turning in his arms, Peeta faced Cato and planted a soft kiss to his lips. "Sleep now. We'll be in Four soon."

Peeta was beginning to worry for Cato. The longer they had been reunited the more Peeta had seen how frayed he's become during their separation. Peeta wondered what else had happened to him to make this change. He just wanted to give Cato some stability for the duration of the trip, so he played along and hid his misgivings.

The next morning the train arrived in the coastal district of 4. The whole trip so far had been filled with sceneries he had never seen nor imagined in his wildest dreams, but this had to top it all. Peeta had never seen the ocean before, and it knocked his mind for a loop. It was so huge! So blue, seemingly endless. And with the sound of the crashing waves joined with the smell of salt on the air made the scene exhilarating. There were white sand beaches and towering palm tress bent crooked from endless wind. He wondered what it must have been like to grow up in a district like this; it might almost be easy to forget the Capitol's oppression. Almost.

They had gone through so many districts already and Peeta had witnessed so much, beautiful scenery and human suffering in equal measure. But most of all he had seen the discontent simmering just beneath the surface in poverty-ridden districts like 11, 10 and 8. They had defiance in their eyes that lit up with hope when they saw him. A rebellion was building full steam ahead just like the train he rode, all because of him. If he didn't stop it, people would die. If he did stop it, people would still die and nothing would change.

The Mayor of 4, a burly woman, greeted them at the train depot to take them on a tour of the district. It was by far Peeta's favorite, even though he feared the water for his lack of swimming instruction. Huge vessels, ships—something he'd never seen before—lined the docks of the seemingly endless marina. A sharp rancid smell hit his nose near the vessels and he was told that was the smell of fish. Their biggest production in the district was fishing.

After that they were taken to the Justice Building for the speeches and feast with the Mayor. Since the fiasco at 12, they had all their speeches pre-written to be as mundane and pro-Capitol as possible. Yet every time Peeta stepped towards the microphone, he saw the show producers on the sidelines tense, ready to shut his mic off at a moment's notice of dissent in his speech. But that wasn't going to happen. He had learned his lesson. No more blood would be on his hands this trip. The faces of the crowd too often reminding him of the faces he left behind in District 12, fates unknown.

The hardest part of the tour had to be facing down the families of the tributes who had died. Even with the ones he hadn't killed, he still felt a gut-wrenching guilt when he stood before them on the stage. He was alive and they weren't, it wasn't fair to flaunt such things in their face. Rue's family was a particularly hard one to face down, knowing how close Katniss had grown to her. He wished he could have done something more for them, but in the end all he had been able to do was slip them a small satchel of coins he brought with him from home. Hopefully they understood the message he was trying to send.

Seeing the boy from 10's family who Peeta had killed was another hard one. But 4 was going to be the worst by far; both tributes had died because of him. Uphelia from the tracker-jacker's nest Katniss dropped on them so he could escape and Stasson, obviously.

Stasson's family stood off to the far corner of the stage and Peeta realized that Stasson's menacing demeanor was an inherited family trait. They all looked like bloodthirsty brutes and their laser-like stares of contempt pricked at Peeta's skin. One woman in particular stood out. She had a swarthy tan complexion and shoulders as broad as Stasson's littered with black markings—tattoos, Peeta later learned. Her short cropped hair was black and hung in thick angular sheets across her face. Only one eye was visible, but the beetle-black orb contained more malice than the rest of the family's combined. Peeta felt a chill from the look of it despite the tropical climate of the district.

The rest of the districts followed suit in the same manor. A short tour, an event at the town center with scripted speeches, and then a banquet with the Mayor and any other important people. Save for 2, which they skipped over to save for the end. The closer they got to the Capitol the more Peeta began to worry it wasn't enough, that whatever they did they were still damned and President Snow was going to exact his revenge on Peeta. He couldn't kill him outright, but he could make his life a miserable hell by taking it out on those he loved. The president was a shrewd man and would know that Peeta's capacity for love left him with multiple vulnerabilities.

"Chin up," Portia pushed with a slim finger against Peeta's chin before retouching some make-up in the light. "I ask for a subdued smolder and I get a brush-fire smoke."

She shook her head at the prep teams work, her cocoa brown hair—ironed straight—swung about her head playfully.

"You're the boy on fire, but not literally." She smiled to herself at a joke Peeta didn't seem to be in on. He didn't seem to be in on most of the things that occurred in his life anymore. Everyone else was content to make the decisions for him, without any consultation. At times it could be the most infuriating, but Portia didn't bring about that reaction in him. He trusted her implicitly.

They were once again staying in the Training Center, and it felt weird to be back and not as a tribute for the games. He had first visited the healthcare facilities in the basement earlier while Cato was styled for tonight. The doctors checked on Peeta's pacemaker and fully healed his bullet wound with some device that emitted warm radiating light. It stung briefly as the flesh stitched back together before his eyes. It was like magic to Peeta. If only such technology were available to those in the Seam.

Now he fingered lightly at the spot where he had been shot, pressing in on it and feeling nothing. No sharp pain or tough scar, just the dull pressure of his fingers. So many important life events left scars on his body and yet there was now no remnant of it left, washed away by the Capitol. They determined their history.

"Peeta, my boy, what's the matter?" Portia asked. Her hands worked in quick deliberate movements as she pulled Peeta's hair together before she took a step back to stare at him with her warm brown eyes. Peeta wished desperately that he could confide in her. But they were in the Capitol now.

"Just a little nervous about the proposal I guess."

It was a kind of truth and it felt safe to voice. He hoped. Portia smiled knowingly and squeezed his shoulder.

"You and Cato are something special. It's hard when you're so young and after what you've been through, it's understandable to feel a little lost. No one can truly know what you've been through. The feelings you have are overwhelming and you have yet to gain the experience to know how to deal with them. But I have no doubt that when the time comes you will know what the right choice is."

Peeta wasn't sure if they were still talking about the impending engagement anymore or something else entirely, but Portia seemed to know from experience what she was talking about. Something played across her face—an emotion he couldn't quite place—that seemed to indicate choices of her own had been made.

"Thanks, Portia."

Peeta stood and hugged her close.

"Careful. You're suit, we don't want to wrinkle it now," Portia warned, pulling free of the hug and setting back to work on styling Peeta for tonight's interview.

The interview with Caesar Flickerman went as expected. He wore a midnight blue suit and matching hair, eyeliner and lip stain. He guided Peeta and Cato expertly through a laundry list of questions—how they kept the love alive in separate districts or what hobbies they had taken up in their now endless spare time. The Capitol audience rode a wave of emotions emphatically before them as they answered the questions posed. Then the time was upon them.

"Wonderful, absolutely wonderful! Now do tell, what are your plans for the future? We're all just dying to know what's in store." Caesar asked.

Peeta turned in the love seat to look towards Cato as he cleared his throat and scooted forward, to the edge of the couch.

"Well Caesar, since you asked, there has been something I've been thinking of doing." He smiled captivatingly for the cameras. A few women swooned audibly.

Caesar leaned forward, playing along to draw up the anticipation.

"Oh yes? What is it?"

Cato slid from the love seat in one fluid motion to crouch on bended knee before Peeta. The audience gasped. Caesar even displayed an uncharacteristic emotion of sincere shock. Then Cato proposed and the audience lost their minds in riot of excitement and happiness. There was no ring to give, but the sentiment was the same. Shots from around Panem revealed equal bouts of happiness as crowds gathered in their town squares to watch the required Victory Tour interview. It was overwhelming to know that their engagement, their relationship, could evoke such strong reactions, and that they moved a whole country. Peeta accepted of course, although it all felt less than genuine. It was just for show. It was just to prove to the people of Panem and the Capitol that they really were just two men crazy in love.

After the engagement, they were then escorted to a gold encrusted car that drove them to Snow's mansion. It was time for the feast.

The palace was enormous, more than capable of fitting District 12's town square inside of it two times over. Multicolored lights and lasers danced across its façade in a spectacular display as welcome. Inside the grounds were floods of citizens making their way inside to one of the biggest parties of the year. All were dressed in their finest outfits, many of which incorporated elements of fire.

Effie Trinket, bubbling over with excitement for the festivities, led them through the entrance of the two story double doors and to the banquet hall where the feast was laid out. Banners hung from the ceiling in black and yellow, the colors of their respective districts and fires danced on stone pedestals that lined the hallway leading to the banquet hall. Multiple bands were positioned around the floor and the room was big enough that the sounds never clashed. The glass-paneled ceiling above them revealed the moon's light and refracted glittering sparkles across the room like diamonds cut into the black marble floor.

It was more extravagant than anything Peeta had witnessed in his life. Cato even laughed at the absurdity of it all. Haymitch quickly disappeared in the crowd, probably off towards the table with water fountains of different liquors.

"Do enjoy yourself boys, tonight's your night!" Effie said before departing, off to bask in her own glory no doubt.

Cato's handler and Lyme slunk off towards the tables piled with endless amounts of gourmet foods. Peeta didn't know where to start.

"Shall I get you a drink?" Cato offered, a true smile playing across his lips.

"Sure. Nothing neon in color though, I'd rather not glow in the dark when I urinate tonight."

Cato laughed as he moved off towards the fountains where Haymitch was last seen. There was a line of bathrooms along one wall where people were already waiting. Peeta watched as each slipped inside with a small vial of some concoction in their hand.

"It's a drink to make one purge."

Peeta spun on the heel of his excessively polished dress shoe to face the newcomer. He was an overly round fellow with pale blonde hair flattened across his head and a mustache that twisted out from his face as if trying to make an escape.

"Purge?"

"Yes, so they can continue eating and drinking more." The man supplied with a roguish twinkle in his eye. He held himself with a great air of importance and seemed to regard those around him with immediate lesser value, save for Peeta, whom he was talking to at the moment.

"That's awful."

"Perhaps, but 'tis the way things are done." The man then extended a meaty palm to shake Peeta's hand and—if Peeta were to be honest—he thought the man himself would do well to take advantage of the purging concoction. He slowly took the hand proffered to him by Plutarch to shake.

"Name's Plutarch Heavensbee, the new Head Gamemaker."

"What happened to Seneca Crane?" Peeta asked bluntly, unimpressed by the title he bandied about with seeming glee at its emblematic power.

"He was… disposed of… after his improper handlings of the game last year. Not many wanted to step up after him, it is a lot of responsibility. But I graciously took the mantle."

Plutarch seemed quite pleased with himself, but Peeta was busy digesting the newest nugget of information given to him. Seneca Crane must be dead; it seemed the only likely explanation. Someone would need to pay for allowing Peeta to cheat the games.

"Anyways, I just wanted a chance to introduce myself to the famed boy on fire. The committee's been quite busy planning the third Quarter Quell for this year," he paused to sip from the crystal flute in his hand, pinky raised in an annoying fashion. "I think you will find it quite explosive."

Peeta was intrigued. He wondered now that since he was someone of importance to the Capitol high society, if he could use it to his advantage to gain insights, like what this year's Quarter Quell would be like. He wasn't alive for the last one, but the horrors of it still lingered in the memories of his parent's generation. Haymitch had won it, but at a terrible cost. There seemed to be nothing left inside him to live for and he never shared his experience.

"What do you have planned this time, if I may ask?" Peeta tried for charming even throwing on a begging smile for good measure.

"Oh ho! You'll see soon enough!" Plutarch teased before turning suddenly serious. "I must be leaving soon…"

Then he pulled from the inner pockets of his viridian blazer a gold pocket watch to look at the time.

"It begins at midnight." He said.

Peeta wasn't sure what he was talking about, but before he could voice his question, Plutarch leaned into Peeta's personal space and flashed the pocket watch at him. Peeta noticed it was no ordinary time-telling device. For the faintest of moments a hologram of a mockingjay seemed to blaze across the surface of the watch. Then it was gone as quickly as it appeared, a trick of the light perhaps?

"Even when it's hard, listen to your true heart." Plutarch warned before he stepped to the side of Peeta, leaving him among the crowd, truly puzzled by what just played out before him.

Cato returned moments later holding two glasses filled with a pale gold liquid that smelled of cinnamon and cherries.

"Who where you just talking to?" He asked, passing one of the glasses to Peeta.

"Just the new head Gamemaker. He's… an interesting man." Peeta scanned the crowd, but was unable to spot him.

Cato was starved, so they made their way over to the banquet tables and indulged in the many fine delicacies available to them. Peeta particularly enjoyed the marinated skewers of meat and the sweet melon cobbler. There was too much to choose from and no way he could try everything he wanted, but he would never take the purging liquid just so he could enjoy more food. It was repulsive to even think of such an action when people were starving this very moment in his home district. The very thought of such things happening while the Capitol partied to excess made the food in Peeta's stomach turn to stone.

Throughout the night, various groups would come up to them to gush about their romance or to just try and get a hand on them. At many points during the night, young women and even a few men swarmed Cato, desperate for his attention. At one such point was when a pair of ice blue eyes locked onto Peeta's and held him captive. He could practically feel them worming their way into his brain and forcing him forward. Peeta's feet moved towards the icy stair with out his volition. Internally, Peeta's heartbeat spiked with anxiety at the impending moment of truth. This was it. This was when Peeta would find out whether all their planning and carefully crafted speeches paid off. We can do this… we can do anything. Cato's words sounded out of the darkness of his mind and Peeta knew this would be the ultimate test of those words. Could they do anything together?

Finally Peeta's feet came to a stop before the President. Two Peacekeepers guarded his flank on either side like stone carvings. He wore a crisp white suit with gold inlays along the seams and the edges of his cuffs. A white rose cut at full bloom protruded from the breast pocket of his blazer. The sickly sweet smell of it stabbed at Peeta's nose and he was reminded of the smell of blood it worked to hide.

"Are you enjoying your time here Peeta?" Snow asked with a wicked smile on his blood red lips. It taunted Peeta, daring him to talk back, but Peeta swallowed the defiant urge.

"Yes, it's all very… enjoyable." Peeta turned the word back on him with a vacant tone.

"I am glad." He wasn't. "That was quite a moving proposal, I must say." Snow spoke slow and delicately, but every word that came out of his mouth lacked the authenticity of real emotion. This whole interaction was for show. They were in public after all. "The audience seemed ever so convinced of your love for each other."

"And you?" Peeta asked before holding his breath. They had arrived at the point of the conversation rather fast. Snow's icy eyes crinkled just the slightest.

"I have no doubt of the love you two hold for each other," He said and Peeta began to release his breath when Snow continued. "But as for your other… motivations. Well, lets just say I remain unmoved. It shall be interesting to see how your marriage plays out from separate districts. I shall be rooting for you two."

Suddenly there wasn't enough air in the whole of the ballroom for Peeta to breathe. He was suffocating in silent agony before hundreds of witnesses. President Snow watched him closely as Peeta worked to compose himself internally, to pretend like the world wasn't crumbling around him. He cleared his throat.

"I thank you for your hospitality tonight, Mr. President."

Peeta bowed in spite of Snow and moved to make his departure when Snow made a sound in his throat. A signal he was not done just yet.

"You are very much welcome, Mr. Mellark. I know you tried your hardest. You may not have completed what was asked of you, but I know in the end you will help the Capitol complete its goal. Willfully or not…" A wicked look of bloodlust slid back across his face trying to pass for a smile. He leaned forward and spoke with the utmost of delicacy, "Now do enjoy the remainder of your time with your fiancé."

He straightened back up and turned his head to look off in another direction, signaling he was now done. Peeta gathered what air he could in his lungs and walked back to where he left Cato. He had tried to keep from letting hope leach into his mind as they moved through the tour for just this reason. He knew it was a slim chance that Snow would let them live together happily ever after, but it still hurt deeper than he expected. It was as if Snow had gutted him before all the revelers and now he had to walk back in agony, carrying his bloody remains, to Cato and share the news.

"Peeta! There you are!" Cato said, rushing to his side and taking Peeta's hand. He jerked him in a rush towards the dance floor in front of one of the bands, eager to escape his groupies and unaware of Peeta's off-kilter disposition. "Where'd you run off to?"

"I was…" Peeta wasn't sure how to say it. Then Cato took Peeta's hands and wrapped them around his waist before doing the same with his. "It doesn't matter."

Cato seemed to accept his non-answer. They stepped and swayed slowly to the music, wrapped close in each other's arms. Peeta planted his head against Cato's chest and breathed in his warm and spicy scent. He was not sure he could bring himself to tell Cato what had just happened with Snow. They only had so much time left together and he didn't want to ruin the mood. He just wanted to live in the moment, together with Cato, absorbing everything he could before it was all taken away again.

They stayed on the dance floor for a while longer. The music may have changed in tone, but they never pulled apart from each other to change their dance style to match. The floor grew crowded with more and more people joining to dance in front of the band. Their choices apparently dictated what was popular for the night. The bug-like pods of the cameras followed them through their dance, capturing video of their display of love to be broadcast over Panem. No matter what they did they were under constant scrutiny.

Around two in the morning the party was still raging forcefully and showing no signs of stopping, but both Peeta and Cato were ready to head back to the training center and their room. Their chauffeur was waiting for them out front, probably having never left, and took them back to the training center.

When they were in the elevator Peeta suddenly had an idea and pressed the button for the 13th floor instead of 2. Cato looked at him questioningly but said nothing.

The rooftop was the same as Peeta remembered. They exited the domed room and moved around the roof towards the garden. It was still decorated with its various potted flowers of creamy whites and trees that were in constant bloom. The air had the perfumed smell of vanilla Peeta remembered so well.

"What are we doing up here?" Cato asked.

But Peeta just shook his head and pulled Cato's hand in his as he guided him towards their bench and the tree under which they shared their first kiss. It was after midnight, but Peeta couldn't help but play the lyrics in his mind of the song that propelled him forward into the beginnings of a rebellion.

Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

"I love you, Cato."

Cato looked at Peeta with surprise in his amber eyes.

"And I love you."

Peeta nodded, struggling to catch his breath underneath Cato's probing gaze. God, he doesn't even know what he does to me, Peeta thought, but I hope to make him. Then he lowered down on one knee before Cato, holding both of his hands between his smaller ones. Cato's sucked in a loud breath.

"I know you already did this," Peeta began with a small chuckle before turning serious. "But that wasn't real. This is. Cato Ryves, you taught me how to love. You saved me from a trivial existence. I can't—" Peeta almost choked up, so many emotions were swelling up inside him that he felt lost to himself. His true motivations buried beneath his need to have Cato as his, even if just for a little while longer. "I can't imagine my life today without you having been in it. So will you give me the honor of your love for the rest of our lives? Will you marry me?"

"Yes, yes, of course Peeta." Cato replied gruffly, stifling his own emotions as he pulled Peeta up and into a passionate embrace.

It felt like a different time as their kiss deepened. Peeta was swept back to a time when this was all new to him and it was all desperate touches and wonder, the thought that they may never have this again after the games heavy on their mind. But here they were, back under the tree where it all started, reclaiming their love for one another, even if it was all for naught.

Cato broke free from the kiss and Peeta groaned in displeasure.

"One second," He panted, then disentangled himself from Peeta and moved to grip a branch from the tree they stood underneath.

"Don't tell me you're going to throw a branch over the edge to impress me?"

Cato barked out a laugh at the memory of his showy attempt at flirting.

"No, not this time."

Then he broke off a particularly springy branch, which he proceeded to strip it of its bark in long quarter-inch wide strips. Peeta watched in awe as Cato fashioned two knotted rings out of the pliable young bark.

"Give me your hand."

Peeta held out his left hand as Cato slid the makeshift ring on his ring finger. Peeta did the same in return for Cato.

"Now we're properly engaged," Cato said.

"I love it." Peeta beamed proudly, leaning up to press a kiss against Cato's soft pink lips. "And you."

The kiss began to grow in passion and urgency as their hands roamed the contours of the other's body. It had been far too long since they did something like this with Peeta's wound prohibiting it during the Victory Tour. But now he was healed and their inhibitions quickly crumbled as their bodies molded together as one.

Cato unleashed a throaty groan into Peeta's mouth when his hand slipped between their bodies to grope his manhood. Peeta's head swam with a heady lust he hadn't felt in far too many months as he fingered the already rock hard length of Cato. His memory had made it out to be bigger than it really was, but the solid length of it in his hand was better than any daydream he'd had about Cato in their long separation. He nipped at Cato's lip and then dove back in with the fervor of a starved man. He had been deprived of this for far too long.

Peeta released needy little grunts as Cato picked Peeta up in his arms and came to rest him against the trunk of their tree. Their groins were now perfectly slotted together as they rutted against the other's hard length in a fiery passion.

"Oh god, I've missed this," Cato groaned, leaning his head back as Peeta dove in to bit and lick along his muscular neck. Peeta paid particular attention to the pulse point on the side of his neck, laving it with the flat edge of his tongue before moving up towards his ear and biting down on the fleshy lobe. "Ah!" Cato growled out in pleasure and pain, his hips stuttering against Peeta's.

"Off, now!" Peeta demanded, pulling persistently at the blazer stretched taut against Cato's back. There were too many layers between them and not enough sense between the two of them to take them off calmly or think of going downstairs to their bed. It was now or never.

Peeta flung Cato's blazer over his shoulders and off his back. Cato pulled back, only slightly, so Peeta could be set back against the ground. Then they both began tearing at their clothes like men on fire, desperate to rid themselves of the burning articles. Once Cato was shirtless, Peeta froze in the process of undoing his pants to stare. It was a sight he never got tired of, the rugged muscles of his chest. He licked his lips and reached a hand out dragging his nails down over Cato's chest and abdomen. Cato hissed and Peeta lunged forward to soothe the red marks with his tongue.

The cool wind whipped across the roof and set Cato's nipples on edge, drawing Peeta's attention to those. Cato, suddenly unable to wait a moment longer, gripped Peeta's shoulders tightly and pulled him to the ground atop their pile of shirts, vests and blazers. He then tore into Peeta's pants, popping one of the buttons off before slipping them halfway down his thighs and then diving in to envelope Peeta's rigid member in the hot suction of his mouth. His jaw line looked vividly obscene as he accommodated Peeta's girth.

Peeta cried out into the night air, throwing his head back in ecstatic pleasure. Cato used one hand to work his shaft in time with the rise and fall of his sinful lips while the other wormed its way between his thighs to brush against his hole. Cato, Cato, Cato, was all that ran through Peeta's mind as the warmth and unrelenting suction of Cato's velvet mouth brought him exquisitely close to the edge in no time flat.

A finger slipped inside Peeta with surprising ease and a startled gasp escaped Peeta's lips. His eyes shot open as a second finger joined the first and they crooked inside him, finding that pleasure spot that made him whimper like a wounded animal. It was too much, the mouth on his cock and the hands working in and out of him in a perfect rhythm.

Then the hand inside Peeta withdrew and moved to between Cato's legs, quickly undoing his belt and pants before pulling free his weeping cock. Peeta leaned forward to touch the member he'd been denied for so long. He moved his hand up and down along the soft pink flesh of his penis before swiping the pre-cum from the tip and bringing it to his lips where he licked it clean. Cato watched him from his position, with his lips still around Peeta's cock, and growled fiercely at the display, the vibrations playing out exquisitely along his cock and reaching up his spine to cloud his brain with even more hazy lust.

"Peeta, I need you, now." Cato moaned when he pulled off Peeta's cock with a wet pop.

"Then take me," Peeta demanded as he twisted over onto his hands and knees, baring his smooth round ass to Cato. It was his for the taking. Always.

Peeta heard Cato spit into the palm of his hand and then felt the dull pressure of his lover's penis pushing against the entrance of his ass. He bore down on it and then jolted as it suddenly slid in to the base.

"OH, fuck!" Peeta cussed, having forgotten what it felt like to feel so full. He needed more of it, afraid if he didn't get it now it would be lost to him, and ground back against Cato, not caring that he wasn't properly adjusted yet. "Cato, I need you, please."

Cato began pumping in and out at an excruciatingly slow pace. He bent forward and Peeta felt as the large muscles of Cato's chest came to rest against his back. His hips picked up the pace, slowly building, the white-hot pleasure pooling in the pit of his stomach as Cato panted against his ear, "I'm here, Peeta, fuck. You're so tight. Damn, I've—I've missed this so much."

Peeta braced both his hands on the wooden bench before him as Cato began to piston in and out of him. Their skin slapped against each other wet with sweat, the wind whipping over their bodies and cooling it as their insides overheated with pleasure and need and uninhibited lust. Everything that had been trapped inside of them, all the want and longing and pain of the separation, finally released in the throb of Cato's cock deep inside Peeta. Peeta cried out in pleasure, Cato's hand wrapping around him unexpectedly and pumping him twice before his seed spilled all over their jackets in thick, ropey pulses.

They collapsed in a heap—Cato atop Peeta's back—on the ground. Peeta could feel the semen on the jackets against his chest and the wild beat of Cato's heart against his back. He twisted so that he could look into Cato's eyes one more time. Then he kissed his fiancé with the last of his passion before he was completely spent.

At some point Cato gathered their things and moved them down to their room, but Peeta was too wiped out to be of much help. Once cloaked in the warmth of the plush bed and Cato's strong arms he drifted off to sleep, a deeply satisfied smile on his face. The looming problems of the past night forgotten to him as he allowed himself this one moment of true happiness.


	8. District 2

Ch.8- District 2

The train arrived at the station for District Two in mid-morning. They had the whole afternoon for Cato to show Peeta around, another perk of the favored Career districts. But Peeta wasn't upset about it in the slightest. It meant more time with Cato. It meant more chances to bear witness to the spectacle that was a truly happy Cato. Peeta would hold onto the bad news, for now, that President Snow was unconvinced and that they were to go to their separate Districts after the Tour. As long as it meant he got to spend another minute with this Cato. Since their engagement, Cato had been moving with a lighter step and talking with a quicker wit. It was the easiest thing in the world to pull a laugh from him, and the affection he showed towards Peeta was intoxicating. Peeta could get lost for hours in just the simplest thing like touching Cato, holding him or being held, and pressing soft kisses against his sun tanned skin. They fucked once more in the morning before leaving, and two more times on the train ride to District Two. Peeta wasn't sure how much more he could take in one day, but he'd sure try. Anything for that smile that crinkled his nose and sparked his amber eyes.

Upon arriving in District Two Peeta's eyes were immediately captivated by their famous landmark, the Nut. It was quite the spectacle to behold. The mountain towered over all the interconnected towns of District Two, with railways intersecting them all and leading up to the behemoth of a mountain. The peak was capped with snow and Peeta wondered if anyone climbed to the top of it for sport.

Cato filled him in on how the inside was practically hollowed out for their industrial war complex. Ammunitions, tanks, hovercrafts and other machinations of war were stored there. It was also a major production hub of stone. If Cato's father hadn't won the Hunger Games, his family would still be working the stone quarries. It was weird to think that he owed the chance of even meeting Cato to the fact that his father first won the Hunger Games by way of his ruthless killing style.

As they walked through the town center towards Victors' Village, Peeta couldn't help but notice all the attention directed their way, or more specifically Peeta's. It was different than it was at home. The people here regarded him warily if not with outright hostility. Some children pointed and their parents quickly guided them away, while others sneered at the sight of them.

"I had no idea you were so unpopular here," Peeta whispered, as they made their way down a side street, hand-in-hand. Cato was nothing short of defiant in the way he held himself as he walked with Peeta to his home. His hand tensed in Peeta's at the statement.

"Well, I didn't want to tell you over the phone, but yeah, it hasn't been the easiest. Most people here want to continue their alliance with the Capitol. They think they have it good. They view my relationship with you as an act of treason," He replied rather blandly, like it was all terribly boring and not absolutely horrifying. "But it will all be better once you're here with me."

He said it so confidently Peeta almost believed it was true. Then he remembered Cato still didn't know. His gut twisted in guilt, but he ignored it.

"Treason?" Peeta asked.

"They think," Said Cato discretely, "You acted out of defiance to the Capitol and so, by association, I did too. My friendship with Dreg has been on the rocks ever since."

"Who's Dreg?"

"You'll meet him tonight. He's the Mayor's son."

Peeta felt embarrassed. He should know these things about his boyfriend, at the very least the names of his friends. But Peeta was quickly realizing how little he did know about the man he claimed to love. Cato didn't seem to want to say more and his grip was crushing on Peeta's hand, so he closed his mouth and focused on taking in the scenery. The buildings in 2 were even nicer than home, most of them having been built out of the respectable stone and marble they got from their quarries. Even all the streets were paved, a novelty only afforded to the very center of town back at home. The differences between the districts never ceased to astound Peeta.

It was easy to tell when they arrived in Victors' Village, the houses all looked similar to the one he lived in except for the third story they each held. Three stories, now that was something unheard of in District 12. The street was even being expanded at the end with mute Avoxes scurrying about building a set of four new homes.

"You've actually run out of victory homes?" Peeta asked in disbelief.

Cato shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the meanings of it all—that he came from such a world where as Peeta had only ever known poverty and the art of barely scraping by. Peeta was too busy analyzing the houses they passed that he didn't see the woman approaching in time and his shoulder just happened to graze against hers.

"Watch it." The woman hissed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see—"

"You don't need to apologize to her, she could have just as easily moved out of the way," Cato jumped in to interrupt. His brown eyes focused in a steely gaze on the fearsome looking woman.

"You'd do well to keep your boy on a short leash while here, Ryves." The woman sneered again and Peeta had to contain a gasp at the sight of her razor sharp teeth capped in gold.

"If you keep an eye on where you walk." Cato retorted before tugging Peeta's hand and continuing them on their path down the street. Once they were out of earshot he explained, "That was Enobaria. She's a true psychopath. She's infamous for ripping out the throats of her victims, which is why when she returned she filed her teeth to sharp points."

"My god," Peeta looked back, worried she may be following. She was someone he never wanted to face alone. "I'm sorry if I caused you any trouble with her now."

"Fuck her, I'm not afraid of her." Cato's chest swelled in righteous anger. "She doesn't get along with people well. My father said she never truly adjusted after returning."

Peeta then felt an odd sense of sadness for her. It wasn't her fault she was this way, just another victim of the Capitol's cruelty. His mind was quickly taken from such matters though, when a bright red flame burst forth from one of the homes to their right and a sharp squeal rang down the street. Even some of the Avoxes looked up from their work to see what the source of the racket was.

"Cato, Cato, Cato!" The little firecracker shouted before running in her gold sandals and purple jumper.

Cato let go of Peeta's hand and bent his knees, swooping her up in his arms when she lunged at him and he hugged her close. Peeta looked on fondly, knowing this must be his precious Cassadine. That was one thing he knew for sure.

"I missed you oh so terribly!" She sighed into his neck. "Papa was horrible of course, making stupid little comments every time you were on the TV. But I made sure he'd be on his best behavior today!"

"Thank you, Cassy." Cato kissed the top of her head before setting her back down.

She then turned and held out a delicately small hand to Peeta. Her presence was much grander than the actual size of her body.

"You must be Cassadine," Peeta said, shaking her hand in his lightly. "I've heard only great things about you and I must say nothing does justice to the real thing."

"Ooh, I like him." Cassy replied, a tremendous smile breaking out across her face at Peeta's charming words. She rolled back on the heels of her feet to stare him up and down before turning abruptly serious. "So you're gonna marry my brother?"

Cato laughed watching their interaction.

"I sure hope so," Peeta smiled in reply.

"Good. You have to keep him happy. I hate it when he's sad and he's just been unbearable without you." She spoke with her hands on her hip and a large amount of confidence for young girl.

"Hey!" Cato mocked hurt.

She turned to Cato and made a face he'd never seen on such a young girl, one that managed to portray her exasperation with her brother while also communicating the subtler notes of her affection for him. She was a fierce and independent little girl, and she knew exactly who she was already. Peeta liked it.

"C'mon, Mom and Dad are waiting and you know how they hate that." She marched off back towards the house.

"How old did you say she was?" Peeta asked, trying to contain his laughter at his sister's attitude.

"Eleven, almost twelve." Cato noted. His eyes glassed over probably with fond memories.

"Bossy little thing," Peeta noted. Cato turned to look at him with raised eyebrows.

"You have no idea. Now let's get this over with." He took Peeta's hand once more and led him to the second house on their right.

Cato's childhood home was surprisingly conventional. It had almost the same layout as his victor's home, but it was decorated with much nicer furniture. A large grandfather clock stood sentry at the end of the hallway by the stairwell that led upstairs. To the right they entered the kitchen and dining room where a massive oak table was placed with seating for eight. This is where they found Cato's parents.

Cassadine was next to her father, who had his face hidden behind a book while his mother sat down at the end of the table putting on a toxic, glittering pink nail polish. Neither of them looked up from what they were doing when they entered.

"Papa! They're here!" Cassadine said while tugging on the sleeve of his jacket.

He finally set down the book and took in his guests. His eyes slid over his son disapprovingly before coming to land on Peeta with an infiltrating stare. He had hard brown eyes and sharp eyebrows of displeasure, but he was instantly recognizable to Peeta as Cato's father. His blonde hair matched that of Cato's save for the grays that peppered it. His shoulders and chest were just as broad and massive as his son's. Everything about him was big and foreboding, something Cato pulled off well at the beginning of the Hunger Games.

"Hello then," he said. "You may call me Mr. Ryves or Sir, welcome to my home."

"It's a nice to finally meet you, sir."

Peeta walked around the table with an extended arm that was met with a speculative stare before he shook it for no more than a second and let it go. Peeta swallowed reflexively and backed away, hoping he hadn't made a mistake.

"Mama!" Cassadine said forcefully. She finally looked up from her task with a bland look on her face. She might have been pretty at one point with her petite frame, soft feminine face and red hair, but the apathy of her life had drained any uniqueness from her existence, leaving nothing but a shell of a woman desperate to adorn herself with fine styling's and jewelry to distract from her banality.

"This is him, then?" She asked her son, taking in the sight of Peeta before making a clicking sound with her tongue against her teeth. "I don't see what's so special, but then again I missed the games this year."

She went back to applying polish to her right hand now, which required a finer pace with her non-dominant hand. Peeta felt sick to his stomach for Cato. His mother hadn't even watched the games he was in! He shot a look at Cato, but his face was already closed off, hiding any of the true emotions he was feeling at the moment.

"Well I wanted to introduce you all to him and that was it, we'll be leaving now." Cato motioned with his head towards the door for Peeta to follow his exit. At the door he stopped to ask, "Will I be seeing you at the Mayor's house tonight?"

"Of course, he's a dear friend of ours. You know that." His father replied dismissively.

Cassy followed them out of the house and continued with them on their tour of District Two, interjecting her commentaries on top of Cato's or correcting him when she thought he told something wrong. It was extremely endearing to see Cato interact with his sister. He was a doting and protective brother and Cassy could easily get whatever she wanted from Cato, all she had to do was pout. He took copious notes.

Slowly, day bled into night and before they had realized it, the time was upon them for the festivities to begin. There would be a whole feast for the District to participate in after the speeches. Peeta and Cato's stylists collected and styled them before they delivered their scripted remarks before an unenthusiastic crowd. Most people seemed offended by the mere presence of Peeta, but he noticed a few with a hopeful glint in their eyes. They were mostly quarry workers shoved towards the back of the large crowd.

Clove's family stood off to the side of the stage where the families of the tributes that died typically stood. They all had the same inky black hair and pale skin. Peeta supposed the woman looking off into the distance with a frozen look and tears in her eyes was her mother. Even sadistic tributes like Clove had families that missed them. Peeta was more than glad to get off that stage and join the Mayor and other politicians of the district for dinner.

The sounds of music and festivities could be heard filtering in through the windows at the Mayor's home. The Avoxes were still preparing dinner and they all lingered in the foyer while cocktails were distributed. The Mayor marked the arrival of the Ryves' boisterously and it was startling to see such a different version of Cato's father. He was friendly and warm with the Mayor as they both hugged and even his mother, dressed up to the nines, was found to be engaging in lively gossip with his wife. They didn't even pay notice to their son or his fiancé. One could even forget the evening was in honor of them.

Cassadine was dressed in an emerald green tea dress and flounced over to her brother's side. It was an interesting experience after having been the center of attention the whole tour to feel so sidelined and unimportant at their festivities in Two. Effie made her rounds soaking up the party, while Haymitch stood by the Avox with the wine jug, harassing him to top his glass off after each gulp. Lyme eschewed the company of most, sitting on a secluded bench near the stairwell eating a plate of hors d'oeuvres.

While they talked amongst themselves on the fringes of the party, a young man close in stature to Cato, but maybe an inch shorter with wiry brown hair and a scar across his nose came over to them.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your fiancé, Cato?" The man asked with a deep timbre. His rusty brown eyes held a cruel mirth that offended Peeta, which he assumed did the same for Cato as he bristled beside him.

"Dreg, this is Peeta," Cato motioned with a stiff hand between the two of them. "There, now you can go back to schmoozing."

"You mock me Cato, but you might try it yourself sometime, or you may just find no one has your back when you need it most." Dreg's thin eyebrows slanted up in a knowing look.

"I'll have his back." Peeta interjected, stepping forward with his arms folded over his chest in defiance.

"Me too!" Cassy quipped on her toes trying to seem taller than she was.

"That's so sweet it makes my stomach ache. Or perhaps I'm just hungry. I think I'll go harass the cooks."

Then Dreg swept from their presence, throwing one final smirk over his shoulder. Peeta heard the distinct sound of Cato's knuckles cracking and rested a hand on his shoulder to try and soothe him.

"Don't listen to him, plenty of people have your back."

"Not here." Cato grumbled before turning into Peeta and pulling him close, nuzzling the side of his head with his nose. He inhaled the scent deeply. "That's why it will be so much better once you're living here. You can change minds, I know it."

Peeta felt his cheeks redden, and it wasn't because of Cato's compliment and so he deflected.

"You're messing up my hair," Peeta huffed a laugh and extricated himself from Cato's arms.

It was finally time to be seated for dinner as a woman in a polka-dotted black and silver pantsuit announced dinner was ready. Peeta didn't feel so well just yet and he pulled back from the crowd.

"I'm going to use the bathroom first," He told Cato. He motioned with his hands for him to go and get seated, not to wait on account of him. "I'll be right there."

Peeta floundered at a loss in the foyer for a moment before taking up the stairs two at a time. His stomach felt oddly hollow and discontent. He just needed a moment to collect himself. This was all going to be over so soon and he wasn't sure he could do it. Was this what the rest of their life would be like? Months separated from each other, only to have a few weeks out of the year reunited, probably as mentors at the Hunger Games? It was too hellish of a torment to imagine for the time being, and so Peeta quickly scanned the hallway for a bathroom.

Instead he ended up inside a large study, probably the Mayor's workspace. The television played idly in the background with images of Peeta and Cato dancing and kissing at the Capitol party. There we vast amounts of memos and notepads scattered across the mahogany wood desk. Peeta wondered if any pertained to them. He shouldn't be here. Just as he turned to leave, a sharp beep emitted from the television and drew his attention. Two more beeps followed before the image switched from the television to a monochromatic studio.

A woman appeared on the screen—she was not like any news anchor Peeta had ever seen. She had straggly gray hair and spectacles that were perched at the edge of her nose as she read from a piece of paper just handed to her. This wasn't meant for Peeta, he could get in even more trouble if caught listening to her report, but then she began to speak and Peeta couldn't move away.

"This is an update on the situation in 8. We are raising the threat to a level 3 alert. The textile factories have been completely shut down and all production halted until further notice. More forces are being moved into the area as we speak."

The television screen flashed from the studio to a clip from the town square of District Eight. Peeta recognized it because they had just been there the week before. It was an ugly, urban district that stunk of industrial fumes and everyone lived on top of each other in tightly-packed buildings and squalor. In the town square, banners of Peeta and Cato still hung in the background, tattered and frayed, swaying in a turbulent breeze. But that's not what caused Peeta's breath to hitch and his heart to stutter. No it was the images of a vast mob of angry people wearing rags and homemade masks over their faces rioting in the town square. A building was on fire. Bricks and pipes were thrown with violent force at the army of Peacekeepers marching on them. The Peacekeepers opened fire with their automatic rifles indiscriminately on the crowd. It might have been the same scene from District Twelve before they left for all he knew. Was this happening across all of Panem?

"Oh god!" Peeta gasped when the images turned too bloody and violent for him to look on any longer. Bodies, blood spattered and lifeless, fell to the ground and more rushed forward to take their place in the fight.

No, this wasn't just a fight this was an uprising. Peeta swung about to rush from the room.

"Terrible, isn't it?"

Dreg stood blocking the doorway with his arms folded neatly over his chest, his biceps bulging. The sneer on his face whitened the jagged scar across his face making it stand out against the smooth tan of his skin.

"I'm sorry, I was just looking for the bathroom—" Peeta began to explain.

"See what you've started? All that violence and death is on your hands. You're the boy on fire, and everything's burning because of you."

Dreg inched closer to Peeta as he simultaneously backed away. Peeta was unsure of his intentions, but his hostility was apparent. It radiated off him in waves like air warped by heat. The sounds of rioting and gunfire filled the silence between them like a prelude.

"We should get back to the party," Peeta said.

Sweat broke out across the back of his neck. No one knew he was up here, Cato thought he was in the restroom. Peeta edged closer to the mahogany desk.

"I was wondering what it would take," Dreg speculated. He brought the meaty fingers of his right hand up to his chin, stroking the stubble there.

"Take what?" Peeta asked in confusion. The sounds of the uprising from the television suddenly ended as the broadcast ceased and the channel switched back to clips from the Capitol party.

"What it would take to break your spirit."

Dreg lunged forward at a frightening speed. Peeta dove around the mahogany desk, but his kneecap slammed into the chair which was behind it and he grunted in pain. Dreg pulled back, faking his forward attack, and then laughed cruelly to himself at Peeta's flailing.

"You don't seem to know much about combat, you just might want to start learning," Dreg warned. Stray strands of his wiry brown hair hung across his face through which his calculative eyes watched Peeta, deliberating.

"What's going on here?"

Cato's voice broke through the stagnant air of fear and uncertainty like a beacon. Peeta saw him standing just inside the doorjamb, his face slack with confusion, but his eyes darted about drinking in the scene before him.

"Oh look, its Peeta's bitch, come to save him." Dreg sneered at Cato, turning away from Peeta so he could face the newest arrival. "Tell me Cato, what's it like to lose all self-respect? It must hurt. Luckily you've got Peeta here. I bet he's good at stroking your ego, or is that something else he strokes?"

"That's it!" Cato roared as he launched himself forward, fists at the ready.

Dreg was prepared for it and he dodged to the side. Cato tried to course correct but his velocity and blind rage dulled his reflexes. Dreg tackled him from the side and they both slammed into the desk. The lampshade rattled and fell off, crashing against the floor.

"Cato!" Peeta shouted.

He ran around the desk to try and help, but Cato snarled at him to stay out of it. Dreg cracked Cato's head backwards against the table, but Cato rebounded upright into a head butt that split Dreg's lip and knocked him back a few feet. That gave Cato the time and room to pull up and charge Dreg. Both of them smashed into the wall behind them. The noises that escaped their lips made it sound as if two rabid dogs were fighting to the death. Dreg landed a punch to the ribs, but Cato was unfazed. He just used his tight grip against Dreg's shirt to pull him forward and slam him back against the wall harder. Then he pushed his arm up and against Dreg's windpipe, crushing down against it until he was gasping for air. His fingers scrabbled against Cato's forearm, desperately trying to get purchase and pull free.

Peeta watched in horror as Dreg's face slowly turned a worrying shade of blue. The situation had deteriorated from bad to worse in seconds and suddenly Peeta found he was worried for Dreg's safety. Dreg's eyes darted back and forth from Cato to Peeta pleadingly. He obviously wasn't prepared to lose his life tonight.

"Cato, stop this!" Peeta begged, coming to his side and trying to rein his unhinged boyfriend back under control. "This isn't you!"

Cato finally broke his crazed stare from Dreg's face to glance at Peeta before it dawned in his eyes what he was doing.

"You used to be my fucking friend!" Cato spat at Dreg before pushing off of him and stalking away towards the door, dragging Peeta by the wrist behind him. Dreg coughed and hacked as he tried to breath in quickly, refilling his lungs with much deprived oxygen. Peeta watched him to make sure he was okay, but Cato kept tugging.

"And you used to be the star child of District Two, I guess things change," Dreg snarled, wiping the blood from his lip across the back of his palm. Then he collapsed in a chair against the wall and Cato swept Peeta from the room.

Dinner was an anxiety-inducing affair, but Dreg never came down to join the feast. Peeta worried to the point that his stomach grew upset and he ate no further than the first course. Cato's friendship was forever severed with Dreg now, and Peeta couldn't help but feel responsible. It seemed that everything that went wrong anymore could be linked back to Peeta. The most troublesome of all though was Cato. Peeta watched him throughout the remainder of dinner with a wary eye. He had seemed wholeheartedly prepared to choke the life from Dreg, and it terrified Peeta. This wasn't the man Cato was supposed to be.

Then things only got worse as the festivities in District Two came to a close later that night and Peeta realized he was out of time. They were walking back in a strained silence to Cato's house. It was a cloudy night as nary a star was visible in the roiling black sky. It reflected the thunderous mood that had been rolling off Cato in torrid waves since the fight. Cassadine had left with her parents earlier, but not before telling Cato to quit being so moody.

"Peeta! I've been informed we have half an hour before we must report back to the train," Effie suddenly appeared behind Cato and Peeta, effusing inappropriate amounts of enthusiasm. "Time to say our goodbyes."

Cato's brooding face sharpened as he looked at Peeta with a new skepticism.

"Oh—okay, thanks Effie," Peeta said jarringly, trying to communicate with Haymitch—who stood behind her—to give him a moment. He quickly attuned to the situation and guided a confused Effie away.

"Haymitch, this dress cost more than a month's salary! Do not stretch the sleeves!"

"What's he saying? You're staying though, right? We haven't heard anything from Snow, no news is good news, right?" Cato asked in a breathless rush. His voice dropped in volume. Bit by bit he was growing more panicked in tone, his eyebrows slowly creeping up his forehead. "Right?"

Peeta reached for Cato's hand, but he snapped it from reach. Peeta pulled back from him, beseeching with his eyes for Cato to listen. Cato's body was coiled tight like a woodland critter he had stumbled upon and frightened, but it wasn't yet sure whether it should run or stay.

"Cato—" Peeta clogged up. Fuck, he didn't know how to do this, but he knew it shouldn't have come to this. It was too late. "I—I wanted to tell you, I did, but I didn't want to ruin things. We were so happy there for a moment and…"

"What are you saying?" Cato demanded. His voice had an uncharacteristic quaver to it that tore at Peeta's heart.

"Snow approached me the other night at the Capitol Party," Peeta finally revealed. It killed him to have to tell Cato this and even more so as the look of comprehension and betrayal spread across his face. His whole body tensed up and then he lashed out at Peeta like the crack of a whip.

"You lied to me?" Cato just about screamed. Peeta flinched. He raised his hands to plead his case, but Cato turned his back to him and stormed down the empty street. Then just as quickly he whipped back around and marched up to Peeta who didn't budge an inch. "You let me believe we had hope! You let me think this whole time it was all going to be okay! How could you do that to me?"

Peeta opened his mouth, but found it arid as the desert they passed through to get to District Two. His gift with words failed him.

"I didn't lie, Cato!" Peeta gasped. "I just didn't know how or—or when to tell you."

Peeta reached for Cato again, but he was shoved back. Peeta's heart jumped into his throat. Cato drew in on himself, not even realizing he'd just shoved Peeta.

"Wait, wait," Cato said. Peeta watched Cato's mind reel before him as he paced quickly to-and-fro. "You knew when you proposed, didn't you? You knew it then and still you asked me to marry you? How are we supposed to get married when we live a thousand miles apart?"

Peeta looked downcast at the stone pavement. He didn't have an answer for that; he didn't have an explanation for why he did any of those things now that the time had come. How were they supposed to marry?

"I don't know if I can do this again!" Cato shouted. He turned his back to Peeta and lifted his head towards the sky. The black clouds swirled in distress above them.

"What are you saying?" Peeta asked wide-eyed with fear. This couldn't be the end. Not now, not so soon. This wasn't how things were supposed to go.

Suddenly, Cato spun around and came at Peeta. He cowered in on himself, internally scared of what may happen, but not willing to step back. Cato didn't hit him; he clung to Peeta's shoulders with a wild fire in his amber eyes. When he spoke it was with a controlled agony that sent electric shocks throughout Peeta's nervous system.

"We could run away, tonight. Just you and me! You know we can make it on our own out there! Please…"

Peeta was shocked by the desperation in his voice and the absurdity of the idea Cato was clinging to. Peeta pried Cato's sweaty hands from his shoulders and held them in his. He looked directly into Cato's eyes with nothing but sympathy and love, but shook his head.

"You know we can't do that. We have responsibilities, people that need us that we can't just leave behind. You've got Cassy. I've got Prim, my dad. The Capitol would come for them and use them against us."

Cato deflated in an instant. It was an absurd long shot and Peeta knew he was just grasping at straws. But then, just as quickly he swung back to fury. His emotions fluctuated uncontrollably.

"So what, this is how it's going to be? We wait another five months only to have a few weeks together during the Hunger Games? This is bullshit!" Cato kicked at the ground with his outburst.

"What do you want me to do about it?" said Peeta. Now he was furious too. It was unfair to cast the blame entirely on his shoulders when he was just as much the victim here as Cato, but in his rage he seemed unable to see that, just the lies by omission Peeta made. "You don't think I feel the same way? That every day apart from you is like a toxin to the heart? It's like eating the nightlock all over again, and it eats away at my heart every waking minute until one day I'm going to wake up and there's nothing left, it's all withered away!"

Peeta stopped his rant to catch his breath, staring furiously at Cato who didn't even have the courtesy to look at him. He just continued to look over Peeta's shoulder.

"You forget I'm not the bag guy here."

"We're all bad guys to someone." Cato stated before his face fell completely, all the fight leaving his body as his body pulled in on itself like a child reprimanded. Then he started to walk away. "Looks like it's time for you to go."

Startled, Peeta turned to look behind him to find Haymitch standing by an open door to another black car. He stood watch with an unreadable expression on his face. Peeta swallowed down the sour taste in his mouth and turned back around to Cato, but he was already halfway down the street, almost to his home. It was a swift kick to the gut and he struggled to find his breath. A crushing pressure had enveloped his rib cage, squeezing in on his lungs and heart. It struggled to keep beating against the crushing of his spirit. Then a hand came to rest on his shoulder, and a strangled sob slipped from his lips before he pulled it together.

"Let's go home, Peeta," Haymitch said as he delicately guided Peeta back towards the car, arm over his shoulder in sympathy.

As Peeta watched the houses of Victors' Village sweep past in the car before they pulled out of sight, probably never to be seen by him again, he wondered where home truly laid. If not with Cato in District Two and not in District Twelve, where was Peeta meant to belong? Winning the Hunger Games was supposed to be the end of it, an endpoint he never even thought they'd reach, but now that they had, he found that it was really only the beginning of a much larger struggle. There was no home left to return to, only the forward march of progress and a wake of burning ruins behind him.


	9. Distractions

Ch. 9- Distractions

Time passed by without Peeta's notice. Days blurred to weeks, and weeks became months. Somewhere along the way he turned seventeen, but he kept that to himself. It wasn't something he needed to broadcast, especially after what he came home to. It was far worse returning home from the Tour than it had been to come back from the 74th Annual Hunger Games Peeta discovered. Before he had the naïve hope that the Victory Tour would change things—that the Capitol would change its colors and show leniency. It was foolish, but that's the thing about hope. No matter how bad things got, there was still that spot in the back of his brain where rationality had no say and wild fantasies flourished. But now that Peeta returned for the second time and his relationship worse for the wear, he found there was no strength or patience left for that foolish hope that Cato and he could have their happily ever after. Letting go might have been the easy part if he only knew how to go on after.

The return to District Twelve was a shock to the system. Over the course of the two weeks, Peeta had found great distraction in Cato and their vain plan to fool the Capitol. And so his homecoming was a reality check more like a slap to the face than a relief. The District had changed. The people were scarred by the brief clash with the Capitol and its quick and merciless counter-strike. It was like using a sledgehammer to nail a pushpin into drywall. A new and severe head Peacekeeper, Romulus, was sent to replace Cray. Machine gun outposts were installed on the tops of buildings in the town square along with whipping posts and gallows, which were put to quick use. The entire Wilshurn family had been publicly executed after Riece's actions at the Victory Tour ceremony. Riece was killed that night, shot in the head by a Peacekeeper as the catalyst for the unrest. Now Peacekeepers patrolled the streets at night with automatic rifles and there was to be no gatherings in public of more than four people at a time, while homes were only allowed to hold the total number of occupants that lived with in it and no more.

Fear and despair were rampant among District Twelve citizens. They were so used to being ignored and starved by the Capitol that their newfound interest in enforcing the law on them was enough to drive the tiny spark of rebellion from their eyes and lower their heads in surrender. If they couldn't stand up for themselves, how was Peeta supposed to stand tall for them in the face of the Capitol's fury? How was he supposed to move on from the death of a young boy when the blood was on his hands? He had volunteered to spare Riece—to give him the chance at life he never would have had if he were to enter the Hunger Games—only to find his life cut short less than a year later.

It was late on a Sunday morning and already unbearably hot. The month of June was known for dictating the season's weather and it was already packing quite the punch, signaling a long and hot summer was ahead of them. Peeta wanted to hide under the covers of his bed a little while longer in hopes of out sleeping his hangover, but the sweltering heat kept his sleep restless. The sheets were wet with his sweat and his unruly hair matted to his forehead. He thought back on the night before, how Haymitch and he fed off each other's misery and overindulged in white liquor. Now his stomach churned mercilessly like a mixing bowl beating his insides into mushy batter, and his head felt twice as large and heavy.

Suddenly the blinds were wrenched open and a voice was yelling at him to get up. The sheets were tugged clean off the bed and Peeta along with them.

"Ouch! What the hell?" Peeta barked from the floor, cradling the back of his head in one hand and shielding his eyes from the imperious sun with the other.

"Your breath smells like shit." Gale's firm voice spoke from somewhere above Peeta. When Peeta's eyes finally adjusted to the glare of the morning sun through his windows, he frowned at his intruder. Gale stood tall above him and was unmoved by the slanted eyes shot his way.

"It's time for this to end. This isn't you. So come on, up 'n at 'em."

Gale held out a hand for Peeta to grab hold of then he hauled him up. Peeta wobbled momentarily, unsteady on his two feet. It took a moment for the blood in his body to catch up with the quick rise of his head. Everything spun sickeningly and Peeta worried he might embarrass himself further and throw up on Gale's boots. Luckily the boots moved, and Gale returned from the bathroom with a glass of water.

"Drink this."

Peeta did so gladly. The cool water did wonders for his parched throat and helped lower his body temperature, which was obscenely high from the hangover and summer heat. Gale watched him thoughtfully the whole time—his thick brows twisted in contemplation of the mess of a boy before him—his jaw quirked to the side.

"Okay, c'mon now." Gale threw a change of clothes at him and marched towards the stairwell.

"What are we doing?" Peeta asked while hurriedly changing.

"I know people like you," Gale stated. "You take everything to heart and carry everyone's load, even when you don't have to." He kept his back to Peeta to give him privacy, which Peeta much appreciated. He wasn't sure why, but the idea of stripping in front of Gale was oddly disconcerting. He stumbled to put on the shorts as fast as possible, but then found he was swept up in what Gale had to say. "You take the blame, even when things are out of your control, and you have the biggest fucking martyr complex I've ever seen. You can't save everyone and even if you could you need to take care of yourself first, otherwise, what good are you? You need to snap out of this and the best way is to provide distraction. So we hunt—Are you done yet?" Gale asked sounding a little exasperated and he swiveled around to face Peeta.

Frozen mid-change, Peeta stood shocked by the words Gale spoke. One arm and head were through the holes of the shirt while the other dangled lifeless beside him. Peeta mouth hung slack from his jaw as he stared back at Gale's dangerously blue eyes. Gale took in the form before him before a smile cracked across his face like cement buckling from heat. His serious attitude was lost as he doubled over with snorts of laughter through his nostrils. Coming back to himself Peeta felt his cheeks flush and he quickly put his other arm through his shirt hiding the smooth flesh of his stomach.

"Sorry—sorry," Gale panted through breathy laughs. "You just looked like the exact impersonation of a deer I startled hunting last week."

Peeta huffed, tugging on a pair of brown leather boots like Gale's.

"Shut up. You surprised me is all." Peeta replied. "I just never thought of it that way. You're actually pretty smart, Gale Hawthorne."

Peeta checked Gale's shoulder as he passed by to the hallway. Gale's head crooked to the side and honed in on Peeta. He could still feel the eyes on him as he moved down the stairs.

"You coming?" He hollered over his shoulder. Peeta already felt better. It was like the words Gale spoke were the key to the lock inside his chest where all his broken emotions and self-destructive thoughts were stored, festering away at his soul. Now they were freed and Peeta no longer felt chained to them, unable to move from his bed or face the day. Gale was right, this wasn't him and he couldn't hide from life just because it got too hard. When had it ever been easy?

Gale caught up to him by the bottom step and then they raced through the streets of District Twelve to the outer fence. They moved quick and quietly, not wanting to draw any attention as they moved through the streets. Gale tested the fence before they both slipped through the weakened portion of the barrier and then hustled it towards the tree line. Once under the cover of the trees and their cooling shade, Gale offered Peeta some more water and jerky he'd made from a hunt a few weeks back. It satisfied his grumbling stomach and gave him permission to be silent while he munched. The heat was still fierce and it worked the hangover out of his system quickly through his sweat. Gale led the way through the woods with the satisfied confidence of a man who knew his way around the forest so intimately he could probably navigate it blindfolded.

The tree where Gale stashed his bow and arrows was maybe a five-minute walk from the edge of the forest. During that time Peeta took stock of the man he was following. He had shoulders almost as broad as Cato's, but a slimmer torso and athletic legs, ones built from years of running and hiking the mountains surrounding the district. His brown hair was almost always brushed off his forehead. He would probably deny it until the end of his days, but Peeta could tell he took the time to care for his appearance. He chuckled at that.

"What's so funny?" Gale asked. The silence finally broke.

"Just thinkin' to my self."

"Hm," Gale hummed. Digging in the trunk of a tree he pulled from within two carved wooden bows and quivers. He hefted one in his hand and a dark look passed over his blue eyes for a moment before he looked up at Peeta.

"This was Katniss's…" Gale said gently. He fingered the polished wood of the bow before holding it out to Peeta. It was smoothed from years of use. "I think she would have wanted you to have it."

He'd never used a bow before, but Katniss had made it look so effortless. Peeta studied the bow and quiver given to him by Gale breathlessly. The wood was cool to the touch and heavier than Peeta expected. Knowing Katniss made them with Gale—that the last time she used this bow with Gale she had no idea it would truly be her very last—was a weight he wasn't sure he could carry. It had so much symbolism that Peeta didn't feel right co-opting it. And even more so now that Gale wanted to pass it on to him. Gale must have known because before Peeta could back out he spoke.

"You know Katniss was terrible the first time she used a bow. I found her in the woods trying desperately to catch a squirrel with her bare hands to feed her family." Gale smiled fondly at the memory, his eyes glossed over staring at the bow then to Peeta's face. "She was prepared to fight me. She was always quick to judge—and usually right—but I managed to convince her I wanted to help. Soon after that, we spent almost every afternoon out here. Making these bows," Gale held up his darker wooden bow, twirling it in his hand. "Learning to hunt. She was quick to learn. You'd never have known how bad she was at first seeing how she used it in the games."

Gale began to walk and so Peeta followed in step just beside him. He was fascinated by Gale's words. He had barely scratched the surface of her character before she was lost to him and now hearing Gale share such intimate stories about her with him—well it was like a second chance at getting to know her. And now that he had her bow, it was like she was still with him. He could—they could never forget her. Never would.

"She had a tough exterior," Gale continued as they hiked on, where to Peeta didn't know. "But beneath it all she was a big softie. We came across an injured fawn two summers ago and I wanted to end its misery and sell it at the Hob, but she wouldn't let me. Just like her sister, they both have a huge heart filled with compassion for the weak and defenseless. She patched its leg and we spent the next week or so nursing it back to health."

As he talked, Peeta studied the relaxed look that spread over his face. It was like watching the tide wash away all the detritus and pain that had built up in the lines of his face, leaving behind a man content with life. Gale happened a glance at Peeta. His look was indistinguishable and Peeta wondered, was I the injured fawn and Gale now felt it was his turn to nurse something back to health?

"She took it upon herself to protect me." Peeta blurted out. He wanted to offer something to the conversation. Give Gale what he got in return. "She took on the brute from 4, Stasson, when he was picking on me. She wanted to divert as much attention away from me before we got to the arena. To help alleviate the large bulls-eye that targeted my back. I just wish I could have done the same for her."

They halted their journey now at the edge of the forest and stood on an outcropping of stone over a vast valley. It stretched out in an endless expanse of dark evergreens and jagged rocks. A river slashed through the scenery, flowing endlessly south and Peeta wondered where it all ended. Was safety to be found there, or did the Capitol's reach stretch to the ends of the rivers and lakes, oceans and mountains? Was anything truly safe?

Gale set down his bow and pulled out more jerky, offering some to Peeta as he sat back against the rocks and studied the landscape before him.

"You two are more alike than you realize." Gale spoke softly now, like he were sharing secrets not his to tell. "Every day I see so many of the qualities I loved about her in you, Peeta. At first glance, it might be easy to overlook you both, but beneath the surface there's so much more. You're both unflinching in the face of adversity. Neither of you are willing to give up on those you care for. It's the reason people are so drawn to you." Gale paused, chewing on a piece of jerky before swallowing and turning to look at Peeta. He seemed humbled by the words he spoke. "It's what I admire about you so much."

If someone had told Peeta he'd find himself here, in this situation, back before the Victory Tour, back before Darius, Peeta would have called them mad. But now he couldn't imagine not having Gale as a friend. They leaned on each other in ways they couldn't with anyone else. They were equals in their grief over Katniss and neither of them had to put up a front or hide it. Peeta held the bow close to his lap, imagining he could almost feel Katniss holding him back through it.

"Thank you. That means a—a lot coming from you."

"S'the truth." Gale shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. He stood on jittery legs. "Now lets teach you how to use that bow."

Peeta gulped. He wasn't sure he was ready for that. Could he ever do justice to Katniss's bow? It was a high standard to live up to, but Gale wouldn't have any of his hesitancy. They spent the rest of the afternoon in the woods practicing. Peeta was terrible at first, but Gale refused to give up. Everything took time and he knew Peeta had it in him, based off his ability with the spear during the games. Gale set up targets for Peeta, and then helped guide him through how to use the bow. Gale even managed to catch a few squirrels to bring home to his family that evening. It was one of the most pleasant days Peeta had in months, but the standard was pretty low. For the slightest moment, he was even able to forget where he was, who he was. There was no Capitol, no boy on fire or impending uprising. He was just a guy passing the time with a good friend.

The next few weeks whittled away in the same fashion. Whenever Gale had a free moment, it was spent with Peeta helping keep him focused on the positive. Every Sunday was spent out in the forest learning to use the bow and hunting. Peeta grew in proficiency with Katniss's bow, and he found time actually moved by faster than he wanted it to on those hot afternoons in the forest. He was always sad when their Sundays in the woods had to end, because it meant the fantasy was over and Peeta had to go back to his lonesome home while Gale worked a grueling week at the mines. He tried to stay busy, visiting with Primrose or Haymitch and ,on occasion, the bakery. But only when he knew it was likely to be staffed by only his father.

Alas, things were not getting any better with Cato. The frequency of their phone conversations continued to decline from every night to about three times a week now. Peeta wasn't even sure when to expect a call from Cato anymore, and it only made it that much harder to sit around waiting for a call that might never come. So when they did, Peeta found he had little patience left for Cato. Everything was different now with no Victory Tour to look forward to.

The phone rang at 7:24 on a Thursday evening. It had been three days since their last conversation. Peeta was sketching in a notepad a picture of the valley Gale and he often trekked too for lunch on their Sundays when the phone rang, shattering the peaceful quiet. Peeta waited to pick the phone up until the last ring.

"Yes?" He answered curtly.

There was a sudden intake of breath on the other end of the crackling line then a moment's pause.

"Peeta?" Cato's voice asked.

"Who else?"

"Sorry, you just sounded different."

Peeta could just imagine him on the other end of the line with the confused pout on his face. Peeta twisted the cord of the phone in his hand, his eyes ill at ease and roaming the walls of the kitchen.

"Well I'm just a little busy right now."

"Oh, I can call back later then…"

"No, don't bother. We can talk now. It's not like I can trust you to call back anytime soon."

Peeta couldn't understand why he was being so combative. He should be thrilled at the chance to even talk with Cato. The fact that they could even call each other was more than most could ask for in their situation, which wasn't many. Everything was strained between them anymore. Even the simplest of conversations carried an undercurrent of resentment.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Cato bristled, quickly joining Peeta's emotionally volatile state.

"What do you think, Cato?" Peeta released a pent up sigh. He crushed his eyes closed and tried to imagine that he was really with Cato, that they were together and having this conversation in person. But then every time Cato spoke he was reminded how far apart they were by the static crackle of the phone line.

"I just don't know what to do anymore. You haven't called me in three days and I've lost all consistency with you. I don't know when to expect your call anymore, and I can't just sit and wait by the phone every day, anxious for a call that may not even come. Do you know how much that hurts? How exhausting it is?"

Peeta felt on the verge of tears. The phone cord was now wrapped in knots around his hand and he could feel the bark of his ring cutting into his finger. He hadn't meant at all for the conversation to take this turn, but he couldn't stop himself. It needed to be said, because it really was unfair. Cato blamed him for how it all ended on the Victory Tour, he knew it, and Peeta couldn't stand it any longer.

"DO YOU—" Cato cut off and Peeta heard the loud crack of something breaking. Peeta was ready for more shouting and he could feel the blood pumping fast through his veins, readying for a fight. Cato breathed furiously on the other end before suddenly reigning it all back under control. "I don't know how to fix this, Peeta. I—I'm sorry."

All the fight left Peeta's body at those strangled words. The heat dissipated from his blood and his heart rate fell back to a normal pace.

"I don't either. I think—I think we should just try again tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay, tomorrow…" Cato responded flat on the other end. "Bye, Peeta."

He hung up and the line clicked dead as Peeta said, "Bye Cato potato."

Sitting at the kitchen table, Peeta furiously pulled the tangled cord from his hand. It was in a knotted mess that Peeta just couldn't seem to unravel. The loops of the cord were too complicated to disentangle and Peeta just slammed the phone back into its base, giving up. What more could he do? He tried to go back to his art, but found he had lost his appetite for drawing. Instead he packed it in early that night and went to bed. The handcrafted ring heavy on his finger like a rock, a constant reminder of what he didn't have. At least if he was asleep he wouldn't have to listen to that voice in his head that told him he was fucking everything up.

The following Monday, Peeta was awakened by the monotonous ring of his doorbell. Pulling on a pair of shorts and a fresh t-shirt, Peeta made his way downstairs. He wasn't expecting anyone so he ran though the people in his head that might be paying him a visit. Gale was at work, Prim at school. It was way to early for Haymitch to be up and his father should be at the bakery.

It turned out to be someone he hadn't been expecting to see again until the Capitol.

"Portia! What are you doing here?" Peeta exclaimed. He pulled her quickly through the door for a hug. She laughed and as he pulled back he saw the men carrying two large trunks behind her. He looked at her questioningly for a response.

"It's good to see you, Peeta." She smiled down on him. Her heels made her slightly taller than Peeta, but he didn't mind the difference. "I managed to wrangle the honor of being your wedding designer. They gave me permission to come see you for some fittings, we have plenty of outfits to choose from, but only the perfect one will do for your perfect day!"

Peeta couldn't help but feel a swelling of excitement along with Portia. Even if things were rocky between him and Cato at the moment, he knew their day would be something special now that Portia had a hand in it. Nothing could go wrong with it now, and the Capitol even seemed to be supporting her efforts. It was now to be a televised event at the Capitol before the Quarter Quell began and Peeta hoped this meant they would at least let the newlyweds spend the rest of their time together in the Capitol until the games were over.

"Come now, lets get you showered and while you do that I'll set up in your bedroom."

Peeta spent the rest of the afternoon trying on different variations of tuxedos. Some were simple and elegant while others veered drastically into the outlandish. But nothing seemed to be moving Portia. Each time he tried on a new outfit, she would analyze it with a critically narrowed eye and then huff, telling him to take it off.

He was now wearing a flame red cape with an iridescent orange suit and knee high black boots with red stitching. It was by far the worst thing he had ever laid eyes on. Portia agreed.

"What are you looking for exactly?" Peeta asked, wanting to get an idea for what she was feeling for him. She paused from plucking out garments from the clothes racks she had set up and turned back to face him.

"I'm trying to put something together in my head. I needed to see you because it just wasn't coming to me on paper," She explained. She moved forward and stalked around him. "I want it to be epic. I want it to be something we haven't seen before. It needs to inspire."

Peeta cocked his head at that. She spoke the word inspire in a peculiar way. He took a closer look at her and wondered what he was missing. This wasn't just an ordinary wedding tuxedo she was putting together. It seemed to stand for something more, but he couldn't figure out what the end goal was that Portia was working towards. In the end she packed everything back up without a decision having been made on what he would wear, but Peeta saw the inspiration twinkling behind her caramel eyes. She had a plan now.

"Will you stay for dinner?"

"I'm sorry, Peeta, but they only allowed me to be here for the day. The train leaves in fifteen, if I don't go now I'll be late."

Peeta nodded. He understood. There was nothing she could do, not when it came to the Capitol's demands. She brought a golden-polished nail to his chin and aligned his eyes with her.

"Don't be so down, Peeta." She smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You're the light in a ruthless dark, people are drawn to it, even if to catch but a momentary flicker of your warmth. You're never as alone as you think."

The beginnings of a true smile wormed its way onto Peeta's face. Portia always had a way of making Peeta feel comforted. Soon after Portia left, Peeta heard his television turn on in the other room. He knew that meant a mandatory announcement was about to be made. He moved his way in there to see Caesar Flickerman sitting at his desk with his trademark million dollar smile.

"This is a customary announcement that tomorrow night at 7pm is mandatory TV viewing. Thank you and I shall see you all then!"

The television went black and Peeta was left with a nagging sensation in the back of his mind. Something about that didn't sit well with him. Caesar was never the one to make those sorts of announcements. Not unless it was something especially big.

And so for the whole next day, worry ate away at him like a slow acting acid, gradually wearing down his defenses until he was a jittering mess. A little before seven, Primrose and her mom, Haymitch, Gale and—thoughtfully—his father showed up.

"You didn't have to come, I know mom probably didn't approve."

His father's portly frame jostled with a small laugh in the pit of his chest. He put a hand on Peeta's shoulder then paused, the air growing awkward before he peeled it back to his side.

"She can't keep me from seeing my son."

Peeta felt a smidge better after that and reached back out to pat his father's arm. It was just as awkward when he did it. They didn't know how to be family, but it was baby steps.

Prim's expectant olive eyes popped up by Peeta's shoulder and he was then forcibly drawn to the couch. He made an effort to greet Mrs. Everdeen and Haymitch as Prim guided him on by them.

"I think it's going to be about your wedding. Haymitch told me Portia came by yesterday to do your fitting. You have to tell me what you'll be wearing! Portia does the best fashion."

Prim exclaimed this in a bubbly fashion and for a moment Peeta really did believe that was what it would be about. But then the television flickered to life of its own accord and Peeta fell against the cushions between Prim and Gale, suddenly fearful.

Caesar was behind his desk where he usually reported the tributes' rankings. He wore a powdered beige wig with matching shirt and tie. The sleeves were puffed and the collar frilled. It was very unflattering.

"Good evening to the citizens of Panem. I have some very exciting business for you all," Caesar looked the image of a cracked out squirrel he was so excited. He handled a large cream envelope in his hands delicately. "In my hand here I hold the official rules for this years 75th Annual Hunger Games and 3rd Quarter Quell." He paused for effect. "As most of you know, the Quarter Quell is a very special version of the Hunger Games that is to take place every 25 years. These are to be special pageants meant to be larger and grander than the others in memory to the dark days that preceded them. The Rules have all been created back at the inception of the Games and locked away for safe keeping, only to be read at such time as when it is to occur."

Peeta thought that had to be a lie. But he didn't dwell on it because suddenly Caesar was tearing into the envelope and reading it with greedy eyes, just as desperate no doubt as the rest of the Capitol was to know what sick devices the Gamemakers would inflict on the District's children this year.

"Oh my. Well isn't this a twist."

Peeta really wished he would just read it. Gale's leg jostled up and down next to him and it shook the couch. Peeta placed a hand on his thigh to still it, the movements only working to build his anxiety further. Gale tensed and threw a look at Peeta before mouthing 'sorry'.

"For this years 3rd Quarter Quell the rules state: all tributes shall be chosen from the existing pool of Victors…" He gave a pause to let that sink in. "Isn't that—well, isn't that something?"

Even Caesar seemed at a loss for words. But he could have started speaking in gibberish and had a seizure before the camera and Peeta wouldn't have notice because he was already sprinting from the room. People may have shouted his name, but all he could hear was the tidal wave of blood crashing through his ears and his thunderous heartbeat. It felt like it was beating in his throat and each pump of the heart was a punch to his gag reflex.

He didn't stop running until he was at the far uninhabited end of Victor Row where he fell into the manicured lawn and vomited.

This can't be happening. Not again. They want to send me back. I can't, I can't go back.

Peeta knew this was punishment for his actions. There was no way this was pre-written. There were only two Victors from District 12 and chances where fifty-fifty that he would be going back in. There was no way he could win it a second time. Oh god, Cato! It hit Peeta that he wouldn't even know if Cato was chosen until it was too late to do anything. Peeta rolled onto his back and the vomit. Then he unleashed a scream so powerful and so deep from his chest that it felt like it tore his insides out with it.

When he opened his eyes he saw Gale crouched over him with a serious look on his face.

"Promise me you won't go back." He demanded. His voice was as strained as if he had unleashed the scream and as hard as the rock unpleasantly wedged between Peeta's shoulder blades.

"W-what?"

"Promise me that if Haymitch is chosen you won't volunteer and that you won't stop him from taking your place if you're chosen. Promise me, Peeta!" He shouted the last part and it startled Peeta back into the present. He felt like shit for having run out on them. He wasn't the only one going through this, they all had to suffer through it too if he went back in and Haymitch was just as much a victim as he was, if not more since this would be his second Quarter Quell.

"I—I don't understand why you're asking this," Peeta spoke. He still looked up at Gale perched over him like a worried mother bird standing guard over its hatchling.

"Because Peeta!" Gale stood up suddenly and the difference in height between them with Peeta on the ground was staggering so he sat up, disgusted by the vomit stuck in his hair. "Because I care what happens to you and I can't lose you, not you too! Not you too…"

It was then that Peeta realized how deeply Gale cared for him. Things had changed drastically between them since he first returned from the Games and Peeta now felt like he finally had a view inside the hard surfaced Gale. It was all laid bare before him, and the loss of Katniss still ached fiercely like a fresh wound. Peeta pushed himself up and looked into Gale's frenetic blue eyes. He could see all the fear and hurt and confusion that stormed inside them like they were his too. Because they were his.

"I p-promise I won't volunteer if Haymitch is chosen." The thought then crossed Peeta's mind of who would take the girl's slot, but it was brushed from his mind as Gale pulled him in to a bruising hug.

"Thank you," He breathed a sigh of relief over Peeta's shoulder and hugged just a little tighter. An odd electric current suddenly coursed through Peeta's body. It felt strongest at his heart and then shot out through the rest of his body like static electricity before dissipating through his fingers and toes. It was there and gone in a second and Peeta was left to question whether he really felt it or it was just his mind playing tricks.

Then they headed back to Peeta's house. It was going to be a long and sleepless night, but he knew he had family and friends to get him through it now. He was no longer the lonely boy he used to be—he finally had something worth living for, he wasn't about to lose it all now.


	10. The Enemy

Ch. 10 – The Enemy

The arrow sunk deep into the bark of the tree with a satisfying thump. Peeta's aim had improved tremendously over the past weeks of practice in the woods. Peeta restrung and fired off two more arrows in quick succession. They each landed within the markings of the target on the thick trunk of the tree some twenty feet away, but he would never have the accuracy or aptitude that came naturally to Katniss. That didn't mean he wasn't proficient, and his confidence grew with each arrow he shot successfully into the imaginary heart of his enemies. The safety of distance provided by a bow and arrow was a comfort Peeta had not felt while working with close-combat weapons like spears and swords in his first Hunger Games.

Peeta and Gale's weekly Sunday hunts had transformed since the Quarter Quell announcement. They no longer held the easy air of a distraction from the troubles that swarmed Peeta back in 12. Now they were filled with a tenseness that kept both of them on edge throughout their Sunday excursions. Gale had subtly tweaked the format into an unofficial training boot camp. Just in case. Neither of them would ever say it out loud, but that was the reasoning behind it. Just in case he was sent back, just in case he had to fight for his life again in an arena with twenty-three other trained and deadly killers.

The best thing about their time in the woods together was that they could speak freely. They never had to worry about being overheard or spied on by the Capitol, and thus could voice whatever opinions they had on taboo subject matters. Peeta learned a lot about Gale that way. And surprisingly himself.

"Do you think there's something more after we die?" Gale had asked one day while they were whittling new arrows. Gale made sure Peeta understood every facet of how a bow was made, so he would be able to better work it as a whole and, if necessary, although gone unsaid, he could make one from scratch in the Arena.

Peeta's knife stalled on its downward slice against the wood he was shaping as he lifted his head to look at Gale thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?" Peeta studied Gale. He was chewing the inside of his cheek and avoiding eye contact. The air was hot and muggy, hanging like a damp rag against their skin. A drop of sweat trailed from Gale's forehead down over his nose. He had a smudge of dirt on it, and Peeta wondered if he knew it was there. If he should reach out and brush it off.

"Like a life after this, some place where all those who have died gather, some place better…" He said the last part wistfully and it refocused Peeta's gaze back on Gale's eyes. They were a somber blue, like the water of a lake on a grey and stormy day, churning with tumultuous thoughts.

"I—" Peeta looked up then back at Gale with a shrug, wiping the sweat from his forehead, "I don't know. Maybe? Are we talking about religion?"

Religion was a word he'd heard in passing once. It was whispered between two kids at school conspiratorially, like they knew something others didn't and it was theirs to know. He had asked his mother later that day only to get a beating. There was no such thing as religion or God. It was outlawed.

"No, not really." Gale picked at the dirt under his fingers with the blade of his knife. "I know people used to believe at one time there was a God or something. It all seems far-fetched to me. But I can't help but wonder sometimes if this is all there is. If so, it just seems so fucking unjust."

Peeta knew what he meant. There couldn't be something like a higher power, some omnipotent being that created them and watched over them, because if there was, it was a sadistic God and not worthy of anyone's worship.

"I just feel like there should be a reward for all of this." Gale motioned around with a jerk of the arm holding the knife.

It really didn't need any further explanation. Peeta got it. He wondered if when their eyes closed for that final time would they awaken on the other side to something better. All the loved ones they'd lost waiting patiently to be reunited and live in peace for all eternity. It was a beautiful thought, but not something Peeta wished to pin his hopes on. Reality was more important. One couldn't get lost thinking about what if's of what might happen when they die, because it didn't matter. Once they died that was it, it was over for them here and here was where it mattered. Here in the now was were they lived, even if it was through suffering, and they had to make that work because there might not be a chance on the other side. To hang up their hopes on that was a foolish misuse of the life given to them.

"You make your own rewards." Peeta forced the knife down against the grain of the wood and a large chip of wood shaved off in one clean swipe. "You can't wait for it to get better, you make it better yourself."

Gale studied Peeta closely and it unnerved him to the point that the knife slipped from the wood and nicked his leg. Blood, thick and red, welled to the surface of the skin and Peeta was reminded of all the blood he'd seen spilled in the Games. Of all the lives that had been lost, and the ones he had taken and he unleashed a muffled moan. Gale jumped from his spot to Peeta, a piece of cloth already torn from the sleeve of his shirt to press against Peeta's cut calf. A breeze worked its way through the trees and cooled their overheated bodies.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought that up."

"No, it's okay. It really is."

Peeta watched Gale wrap the cloth around his leg and couldn't help, but notice the smudge of dirt at such a close range. He reached out and wiped it off with the pad of his thumb. It glided over the sweat-slicked skin of his nose in one smooth motion, the dirt coming clean off. Gale gazed at him critically, but said nothing.

"Maybe we should head back now…"

"Yeah, okay." Gale agreed and cleared his throat. He stood and offered a hand to pull Peeta up with him.

And now Peeta took to the woods by himself in the afternoon to practice alone since Gale could only come with him on Sundays. It felt like a private lesson with Katniss as he used her bow and she guided him through each shot. Even though he had made a promise to Gale that he wouldn't volunteer to go back in, he still couldn't knock the feeling that it wasn't going to work out that way. The Capitol had plans and Peeta was sure the 'boy on fire' factored into them greatly.

Worry was now a constant presence in Peeta's life. Worry over the future and the safety of his loved ones. Worry over the outcome of the reaping and worry over the future of Panem. And now worry was beginning to build over himself. Some days, like today, he felt off. There wasn't any one feeling he could pinpoint as to being different, but something deep within him didn't sit right and he couldn't place it. He caught himself zoning out every now and then, and when he tried to think back on what he had been doing he couldn't quite remember. It was nothing serious, but it was frustrating when it happened because he knew he had been doing something, but now the memory was lost. It was like it was trapped beneath the water's surface and whenever Peeta tried to look at it too closely, the ripples of the water distorted the image and hid it from view.

The sun was a little more than halfway across the sky meaning it was mid-afternoon and the hottest part of the day. Sweat rolled down Peeta's back and his blue t-shirt looked tie-died with blotches of sweat darkening the material. He needed to head back now if he wanted to make it in time for supper with the Everdeen's. He had trekked far into the woods today and it would take more than an hour to get back. And in this heat, it wasn't going to be pleasant or easy.

As he ripped the arrows from the tree bark and put them back in his quiver, he heard a faint rustling of dried leaves. Something was trudging through the forest and displacing the sun scorched leaves. It might be a deer—sounded big enough—so Peeta pulled an arrow free and took aim, moving cautiously forward towards the sound. He moved, ready to fire as he came around a large pine tree when he froze face-to-face with two Peacekeepers.

His heart did a violent back flip. How had they found him? They were sure to punish him for being caught breaking the biggest rule in 12, not to cross the fence. He was steeling himself for a fight when the smaller of the two Peacekeepers screeched in fear and moved behind the larger one. The older of the two women was astonished. Her eyes were wide open and her mouth gaping before she fumbled with the inside of her pocket.

"Don't move or I'll shoot!" Peeta warned, fearful she would draw a gun on him and his advantage would be lost. But then she did something completely unexpected.

"D-don't! Please!" She begged and pulled from her pocket a broken cracker piece. She held it out to him with a trembling open palm.

Confused, Peeta hesitated. The drawn bow and arrow strained in the ready position as he stepped forward for a closer look at the odd cracker. Embedded in the center of it was a design. It didn't make sense to be there and even less sense that she was presenting it to him as her defense. It was the image of a Mockingjay.

"What is that?"

"We're on your side! It's your symbol. The Mockingjay." The woman said. Her voice was scratchy and parched.

His arm slowly relaxed and the bow lowered to his side. Peeta finally took the time to take a second look at the two women. Now that he thought about it they looked nothing like Peacekeepers. The younger girl was in the white garments of a peacekeeper twice her size; even the shoes were ill fitting. Both of their costumes were marred with dirt and tattered around their feet, like they had been hiking through the wilderness for days.

"You're not Peacekeepers, are you?"

"No!" The younger girl piped up. She looked close in age to Peeta with wild black hair and dark ebony skin. The other one looked to be similar in age to Haymitch with piercing green eyes.

"We're from District 8! We ran away." The older one explained now that Peeta wasn't pointing an arrow in her face. "I'm Twill, this is Bonnie."

"There was a rebellion." Peeta stated, suddenly remembering that night back in Two when he was in the Mayor's office.

"Yes! How'd you know?" Bonnie asked.

"He's the Mockingjay, of course he knows." Twill said.

"The mockingjay?" Peeta asked, confused. They recognized him, of course. But he had never been referred to as that. It was always the boy on fire.

"Yes, you've become the symbol for the rebellion. If you wish to signify to others you're part of it you show the mockingjay." Twill motioned with the cracker again before safely storing it in her pocket.

"You're not being followed?" He asked, worried. He knew what happened if one of the hovercrafts found them. They'd be killed or mutilated and made into an Avox.

"No, no. We've been out here for weeks. You're the first person we've seen. I can't believe it, Peeta Mellark!" Twill said with a shake of the head.

Peeta suddenly realized that this was his chance to learn more about what was happening elsewhere. What was the outcome of the uprising in Eight? Where were they going? Were more joining the fight? Any ideas of an uprising had been stalled in District Twelve since the riot after the Victory Tour. He motioned for them to sit and then pulled out a bottle of water, crackers and cheese he had brought with him as a snack. The girls sat with him, huddled together and devoured the offered nourishment gladly.

"We worked at one of the factories that made peacekeeper uniforms in Eight," Twill explained around a mouthful of cheese. "Everyone thinks we died in the factory explosion, it's only sheer luck we weren't. We had to get out of there. It was too dangerous."

She explained how discontent had been growing ever since Peeta's actions in the Games. He gave them hope that they could fight the Capitol. That it wasn't all-powerful if a boy could change the rules of the game and stand up to them. That's when the wishful thinking of rebellion turned into a reality. The factories were a perfect place to for word to pass safely as the loud machinery hid their whispered plans. Twill worked for a month to steal the necessary pieces for of the uniform. Originally it was to be her and her husband that left, going to spread the word of an uprising.

They used the Victory Tour as a practice of sorts and then the night of Peeta's engagement, when it was mandatory viewing and they had an excuse to be outside the uprising started. They secured weapons and most peacekeeper strongholds, overwhelming them in surprise. But then the Capitol pushed back hard. Thousands of troops overran them and bombs rained down non-stop. Bonnie's whole family died and so did Twill's husband. They barely escaped in the chaos.

He couldn't believe it. He hadn't thought much of their uprising that he saw in the Mayor's office since. So much else had happened and he got distracted, their attempt at an uprising quickly flushed from his mind. But he had held out hope that maybe they succeeded; maybe they found a way to beat the odds. It was enormously disheartening to know they were crushed in two days.

"You're out. So what are you going to do now?"

They were a long way from Eight, that was for sure.

"We're headed to District 13." Twill chipped in.

"But that was destroyed. There's nothing left. We've all seen the footage on TV." Peeta stated in disbelief. Why on earth would they want to go there? It was still toxic and uninhabitable. They'd be better off making a go of it in the woods.

"Yes, but it's the same footage! Over and over!" Twill explained anxiously. "If you look closely you can see the same mockingjay fly by on the screen. There's life there I know it. They're hiding something and they just don't want us to think it's safe to go back there."

It was a wild idea, and Peeta couldn't help but be tempted by it. But it was too much to pin their hopes on, that the Capitol would let Thirteen survive. The girls tried to convince him its possible, that they were left alone because of Thirteen's nuclear capabilities, but Peeta couldn't allow his heart to be swept away by such notions. If there was a District Thirteen, what were they waiting for?

Peeta bid them goodbye and left them with all the food he had brought with him for the day. The girls seemed in much better spirits now that they had the chance to meet the boy on fire—or, he guessed, The Mockingjay. It was weird to think how much he meant to people. But even more, Peeta realized Snow had played him. There was no way he could have tamed the rising spirits of the Districts during his Tour. He may have provided the spark of fire, but the fuse was already there and willing and once lit he could never have stopped it.

Thoughts of the possibility of District Thirteen and war swirled through Peeta's mind as he trudged back to the weak spot in the fence. He stashed the bow in the same spot he always left it, next to Gale's, and then moved cautiously and quickly towards the fence. The sun was setting and the air was finally cooling. Peeta was drenched in sweat and would need to change before going to the Everdeen's for dinner. Thankfully, his ears picked up the odd vibrating sound before it was too late otherwise his preoccupied mind might have never noticed the fence was electrified.

Peeta's head snapped up. He searched the length of the fence with a frown for the cause of the noise before picking up a stick and chucking it at the chain-links. The piece of wood hit the fence and a sharp zap followed by a small explosion of sparks and smoke. Shit.

Peeta raced to the right of the fence, looking desperately for a way over. Why was the fence on? This never happened and Peeta didn't have an alternative way over if he couldn't peel back the weak spot of the fence and climb through. He couldn't linger on the other side of the fence for too long, or someone might pass by and see. Finally, he spotted in the distance a tree that grew close enough to the fence that he might be able to jump over it. It was going to be risky, but he didn't have another option and there was little time. If the electricity was on, they probably knew Peeta was out here and they were sending a message.

At the base of the large oak tree, Peeta struggled to pull himself up to the nearest branch, some five feet above his head. He used the knobs and small growths of the trunk of the tree to work his way up until he was able to get his arms around the branch. Then he lifted the rest of his body up. He needed to climb a few more branches up until he was level with the top of the fence. Peeta pressed down with his foot against the branch, testing it for its sturdiness. It was a good fifteen-foot drop to the other side and he didn't want the limb to break before he was across the fence.

Slow and steady he went, working with small shuffling steps across the tree limb, using the ones above him to keep him steady. The buzzing of the electricity that flowed through the fence crackled and snapped like it anticipated his failure and was hungry for his flesh. The branch began to bend down towards the fence the further out he got. Soon after he passed over the dividing line of the fence, the branch groaned from his weight. He didn't have much time, but the drop was daunting. He would definitely hurt himself if he didn't do this right. He dropped to his knees and then swung his legs over the edge and twisted so he could grab with both arms and dangle from the branch down towards the ground. That cut the fall by a little, but it still seemed to far.

"Okay, you got this," Peeta talked himself up. "Just tuck and roll. One, two, three…"

He hung on a little longer, his resolve wavering before he heard a snap and knew time was up so he let go and fell. The contents of his stomach rushed up his throat and his legs impacted the dirt with a jarring force that rocked up to the roots of his teeth. He tried to tuck in and roll with the landing, but his right foot still bore the brunt of an awkward landing and something twisted. A sharp pain flared up his right calf like tiny wires laced the skin and pulled tight, strangling the muscle and lancing the skin.

"Fuck!" Peeta groaned and rolled onto his back, his knee bent towards his chest and his hands holding his ankle.

He remained there for another few moments catching his breath and waiting for the searing pain to dissipate before he moved.

"Oh my sweet, sweet Peeta."

A voice spoke, breaking the silence of the humid evening air. The voice raised the hair on the back of Peeta's neck and stuck a chord of fear in his heart. It wasn't real. He couldn't be here.

Except when Peeta opened his eyes and looked to his left there he stood. His harsh face and scrutinizing eyes remained the same, but his beard was trimmed and his hair had been buzzed. It was Darius.

"Didn't expect to see me again, did you?" He smiled, and Peeta shuddered at the memory of that hungry smile.

"What are you doing here?" Peeta demanded, but he didn't really need an answer. He saw the Peacekeeper clothes that he wore and knew he was reinstated.

He pushed himself up and stood on both feet, biting back the pain he felt in his sore right ankle. He couldn't allow Darius to see he was injured.

"I'm glad to see the Capitol patched you right as rain. I just couldn't stand myself thinking I had hurt you," Darius spoke conversationally like he was catching up with an old friend. "But you know you hurt me too."

Suddenly, Darius' eyes sharpened and the smile fell from his face. He moved forward with a predatory nature and Peeta stepped back only to remember the electrified fence behind him. He was trapped. His eyes kept flicking to the gun in the holster of Darius' belt.

"Now that I'm back I'd like to try this again."

"You're a psychopath and there's nothing further we have to do with each other," said Peeta. He held his head high and refused to back down, even though he was terrified on the inside. "You lied to me and lured me to your place on false pretenses, then took me hostage and shot me. You don't get to try again."

"So say you, Peeta. But…" Darius came to stop mere inches from Peeta and took in a deep breath. Peeta fell away from him with disgust, but Darius's hand flung out like lightning to restrain his left arm in a vice like grip. "I will finish what I started. Because like you told me that night, I'm mad—mad about you and I WILL have you."

Peeta twisted and tore his arm free before stumbling back a few paces from Darius. He swallowed down the fear in his throat and kept his eyes glued to the enemy. Darius plastered on his carnivorous smile and gave a facetious salute before slipping between the clustered shacks of the Seam and out of sight. Peeta finally released the breath he had been holding since Darius took hold of his arm.

* * *

The sound of shattering glass like a million pennies scattered across the floor woke him in the early hours of dawn. He shot up in bed, knife at the ready, his mind steeling itself for bloodshed. Cato had taken to sleeping with a knife ever since the Games. He just didn't feel safe without a weapon at the ready at all times, even in his bed. Life after the Games was like a life in constant withdrawal from morphling, twitchy and paranoid and frantically desperate—although for what he wasn't quite sure.

The knife under his pillow didn't seem so paranoid now as he crept down the stairs of his home. His pulse beat like a hammer through the main artery of his neck and sweat trickled down his back. His eyes swept from corner to darkened shadow, ready and waiting for an attack. It never came. Instead, he found a cinderblock atop his kitchen table and shattered bits of glass streaked across the floor like glittering diamonds. He sighed and sat the knife down on the table, now going to the pantry closet for a broom to sweep up the mess. Things had deteriorated in Two for Cato since the Victory Tour and faster still now that the Quarter Quell had announced old victors would be chosen as tributes. The nasty glares had turned to nasty words. Some shop owners refused to accept his business and often times Cato stayed shut in his home brooding and cursing the fates for such a sore deal. Worse still was the brick wall Peeta and he had hit in their relationship, but that was something he didn't want to think about. He knew that was something he fucked up all on his own and he didn't know how to rectify it from a thousand miles away.

By the time the room was cleaned of the treacherous bits of glass, the rest of Two was awake and beginning their day. The sun remained hidden behind a thick layer of clouds the color of deep purple bruises. The day seemed all too happy to join in and reflect in Cato's battered mood. There had been a note attached to the brick, which he refused to read on principle, and Cato wondered if this was only the first in the beginnings of a campaign to harass him back into the Quarter Quell, where his luck would surely run out.

The chiming of his clock alerted him that it was nine o'clock. He was supposed to walk his sister to school. He made sure never to miss it, even on days like today where all he wanted to do was lock himself away from the world or maybe break things. The ornate knob on the staircase banister tore off in his hand when he pulled his body up the steps in a hurry with brute force and he decided that yes, today was a day he'd like to break things. He chucked the knob from his sight and hustled the rest of the way up to throw on a rain cloak and some shorts then made for his sister's. His father was already waiting at the door with Cassadine, a dissatisfied look resting on his wide face like he expected nothing less than his son to shirk his responsibilities to his impressionable sister. But Cassy couldn't have cared less, blowing a kiss to her father and taking Cato's much larger hand in hers as she skipped off down the street, tugging him along.

"Did you talk to Peeta last night?" She asked with an expectant look that she could have only learned from their father. It was a look that said she already knew the answer and was disappointed by it.

"No…"

"But Catooo," She dragged his name out in the way only kids can, seeming to make the word endless in length. "If you never talk to him talk to him then you'll never fix anything!"

Cassy was a big proponent of their relationship. She was immediately taken with Peeta upon first meeting him and so each morning on their daily walks she made sure to remind him how stupid she thought he was being. And so she was utterly exasperated with him. It warmed his heart that she cared so much, but it wasn't enough to fight the cold that built like an encroaching winter in his chest, bitter and harsh, killing even the most hopefully persistent of weeds. Everything seemed lost to him anymore.

"I know that Cassy, but things are complicated. You wouldn't understand." Things like how he couldn't stop from blaming Peeta for this mess even though he knew it was undeserved and he was taking it out on the one person that knew exactly what he was going through. How he felt like something was happening, that Peeta was changing, leaving things out—on purpose—and he didn't know what.

Cassy suddenly wrenched her hand free of his and came to a halt in the street. The bruising clouds overhead were beginning to unleash their contents, just a light sprinkle, enjoying the build up to the real storm.

"That's only what grown-ups say when they don't want to have to explain difficult things that make them uncomfortable. And that's no excuse not to do something."

She stared him down with arms crossed. Her red hair was pulled up into a tight bun today, probably their mother's doing, and it made her look all the more strict. He sighed.

"You're right."

"Of course I am."

"Hey now, lets not go getting a big head now."

"Please, I'll never have a big head if I stand next to you."

"Okay now you're just being mean."

He touched a hand to his head. He did have a large head, but everything about Cato was large. She slipped her hand back into his with a sweet laugh and they continued their way towards the town center and her school, raindrops flecking their cheeks like stray tears.

"Just being honest. Papa says you can never be wrong if you're honest."

She squeezed his hand and he pressed back, words like 'I love you' or 'you're one of the most important things to me' left unsaid because a squeeze of the hand was all they needed. As they neared the town center the buildings began to stack together and grow taller, more like a real city with the cobblestone streets and people bustling to and fro. He would have expected less people on the streets this morning due to the growing rain, but as they turned onto Justice way—the road that lead to the town center and the justice building—he was shocked by the lack of people. Where was everyone? Even Cassy noticed.

"It's awfully empty, did we forget some mandatory Capitol viewing?" She asked, looking up at him like he really was the big brother with all the answers.

"I don't think so."

Cato pulled her closer and quickened the pace. He wanted to get her to class already and off the streets. Something was off; his hunter senses tingled in the back of his mind like little spiders crawling up his spine.

"Look, up ahead!" Cassy shouted unnecessarily—he saw it too. A large crowd had formed in the town square. It was packed like it got for the Hunger Game viewings. "I wonder what's going on. Can we go see?"

"I don't think we should…" Cato slowed down, unsure if he wanted to find out what was happening. "Let's just get you to school. You don't want to be late."

"But everyone's there. Look, I see Asper with his mom!"

She tugged relentlessly and he caved, following alongside her as they closed in behind the large crowd. The rain was no longer a sprinkle, but coming down in a steady pulse of water. The summer air was hot, but the drops of water ice cold. The crowd was loud and riled up. People shook their heads vigorously while others chimed in with angry shouts and a shake of the fist. Then Cato heard Dreg's voice over the dull rage of the crowd.

"The Capitol is not the threat! They're our friend and friends take care of each other!"

The crowd burst into abrupt applause and cheered at that. Cato didn't like where this was going.

"But there is a real enemy out there and they want to destroy everything we've worked for, to throw us back, the whole country, back into the dark days!"

People stomped their feet and jeered. Men threw their fists in the air and cried out things like 'we'll never go back' or 'they must be stopped!' That's when Cato spotted Lyme among the crowd. She saw him and paled.

"What's he talking about?" Cassy asked, shielding her eyes from the rain. She strained to see anything over the crowd in front of her, but she was too small.

Lyme began to push her way through the crowd towards them shaking her head. She was trying to tell him something. Something urgent. Her usually strong and composed look replaced by one of anxious alarm. She waved with her arms at him and mouthed something. Something like 'go.'

But it was too late. Dreg was now shouting about the terrorists trying to subvert the message of the Games, people who used fear and tried to turn those being rightfully punished to their side. People like Cato Ryves and the boy on fire—he sneered and spat on the ground to great applause. Now he was screaming as the rain poured down his face and drenched the clothes he stood in. District Two needed to show its pride for the country of Panem, to give thanks to the Capitol and support it. To fight back!

"Cato I don't like this, I wanna go." Cassy tugged on his arm, trying to pull him away, but the crowd was now worked up into a frenzy, feeding off each other until they were working in a mob mentality. More had showed up behind them and trapped them in the throbbing crowd.

"RUN!" Lyme's voice rang out over the crowd for Cato, but there was nowhere to run too. The mob had spotted Cato and swarmed him like a tidal wave. Cassy screamed in fear. Cato tried to get to her, but they were forced apart as the horde bore down on him. He pushed as hard as he could, desperate to reach his sister and get her to safety, but it was like trying to swim through dirt, no one gave an inch. A woman spat on him. Another called him a traitor. They shoved at him, the rain drenched him in thick icy sheets and something hit him over the back of the head. He felt a dull throb and the hot release of blood down his neck. He started swinging, trying to take down anyone near him when another man locked Cato's arms behind his back. "Cassy! Cassy get out of here! Go!" He shouted, struggling like mad against his captor. Then a monster of a man moved in front of Cato blocking the rain from his face. It was the fearsome Brutus. He raised his arm and then brought a massive fist down on Cato's face. The last thing he heard was his sister shrieking and the cheers of the crowd. Then everything dropped away into nothingness and an explosion of white behind his eyelids.


	11. The Longest Night

Ch. 11- The Longest Night

Peeta hobbled his way to Gale's home in the Seam on his injured ankle. Each step felt like it ignited a small fire in his ankle, but he gritted his teeth and suffered through it, knowing he had to reach the Hawthorne's. Hazelle immediately recognized something was wrong when Peeta appeared on her front door; the fear self-evident on his face.

She ushered him in and helped him to a chair. Worry creased her brow, but she knew he wasn't there for her.

"He's not back from work yet. He should be soon." Hazelle moved back to the stove and started ladling some stew. "Would you like some broth? Your nerves look like they could use some settling."

Peeta appreciated the gesture and was glad not to have to answer her questions. He was still far too shaken up by Darius' sudden reappearance. He needed to talk to Gale. He took the bowl gratefully, but found he lacked much of an appetite. He forced some of the hot broth down to appease Hazelle. She hovered about Peeta with a worried sense of air while also attending to her three youngest.

Finally, after an excruciating amount of time where everyone sat in uncomfortable silence, waiting and wondering, Gale came home. Peeta never got to see him like this—when he came home from work. He always made sure to clean up before ever coming by Peeta's so it was quite a shock to see how much Gale had hid from him. He didn't notice Peeta right away as he came in, instead hanging up his miner's hat and taking a deep breath like he was trying to restock his lungs with fresh air, not the stale and blackened air deep in the mines. He looked haggard and worn down with black soot smeared across any exposed inch of flesh. It was a disheartening sight and even more so that Gale worked to hide his misery from him.

Hazelle cleared her throat and Gale suddenly realized they had company.

"Peeta? What're you—what's wrong?" The expressions on his face quickly morphed from uneasy surprise to concentrated concern. He moved forward to Peeta and brushed off the bowl of stew offered to him by his mother.

"Can we go outside?" Peeta asked, not wanting to intrude any longer on the Hawthorne's dinner.

Gale nodded and led the way out front of their small shack. His eyes sharpened at the obvious limp in Peeta's gait, but he refrained from further questioning.

Outside, Peeta turned to face Gale and expelled all in a breathy rush of words, "Darius is back and he told me he plans to finish what he started, which I'm not sure what that means, but last time it ended with me getting shot and I don't know what to do because the Peacekeepers obviously don't care."

A dark looked overcame Gale's face for a second before it was washed from view and replaced by a cool and collected look, but Peeta could still see the small fire that burned in the back of his blue eyes, just smothered for the moment. He nodded to himself and spoke.

"I'll move in with you then."

"What? No, you don't have to do that—"

"Yes, I do. It's the only way we can guarantee he doesn't try anything."

By the firm set of Gale's jaw Peeta knew his decision was made. This was how they would handle it moving forward and Peeta best get on board with it.

"But what of your family?"

"They'll be fine. It's not like anything will really change since I'm never here anyways with work and your lessons."

"Oh," Peeta cringed internally. He hadn't realized how much time of Gale's he was sapping, but now he couldn't help but feel guilty for stealing him away from his family. They probably needed him. Peeta was being selfish in his dependency on Gale. "I can't ask you to do this. Your family needs you."

"Then why'd you come here?" Gale demanded. The fire flared behind his eyes and Peeta knew he was barely keeping it together. He shouldn't have brought this problem to Gale, but it was too late now.

"I—I didn't know who else to go to…"

Gale seemed to deflate at that and he pulled Peeta into a rough hug. He smelled of sweat and burnt wood and his chest was rock solid against Peeta's cheek. Gale's chin came to rest atop his head. Peeta settled into the hug with a sigh not having realized how much he needed the human contact. He spent too much time alone these days save for when he was with Gale on Sundays and the short visits with Prim or Haymitch. Gale cleared his throat and then pulled back.

"I'm going to clean up here and pack a few things. I want you to go straight to Haymitch's and wait for me there, okay?"

"Okay."

Peeta was reluctant to leave Gale, but he thought it best to leave him to his family. He already intruded enough and now he was stealing Gale away from them. He rushed through the streets making sure to take the long route back to Victor Row so as to avoid the Peacekeeper village. He did as he was told and went straight to Haymitch's house, which was no longer a test in endurance now that Hazelle came by once a week to clean.

"Seems like a smart deal to me. Men like Darius are cowards," Haymitch explained from his slouched arrangement on the couch. He was drinking a mixed cocktail of white liquor and some red juice that was only available in the summer months. "They rely on tricks to overpower and are never one for direct confrontation unless it's on their own terms. Having Gale staying with ya is the best deterrent to his brand of crazy."

"I know, I just wish I didn't have to drag him into this mess."

"It's too late for that. He dragged himself into it back when he found you bleeding out on the streets and took you to the Everdeen's."

"I guess."

Peeta flopped down on the couch next to Haymitch and noticed for the first time what was on the television. It was a news report on District Thirteen. Peeta immediately tuned in to what she was saying, paying close attention to the background for the mockingjay Twill had talked about. A young woman reporter stood in front of the derelict Justice building of Thirteen as she talked of a new report verifying that it was still inhospitable for human life. Just as she was about to send it back to the main desk Peeta saw it. His whole body tensed like a jolt of electricity was shot through him. A mockingjay flew by in the right hand corner of the screen. Twill had been right! But did that really mean the Capitol was lying? Was there still something in District Thirteen that the Capitol didn't want us to know about? Or were they just using stock footage because they didn't want to send a reporter all the way out there? Frustratingly there were no easy answers.

"Are ya even listening to me?"

A hand landed on Peeta's shoulder and he was jolted back to reality. He had almost forgotten he was at Haymitch's, completely absorbed in his thoughts of District Thirteen and rebellions.

"Sorry, just got caught up with that news report."

Haymitch looked up at the television and frowned. "Ah, it's always the same bullshit. Don't listen to a word they say."

"Why do you have it on then?"

"It's entertainin' to watch the Capitol idiots try to report the news with out sharing any real facts."

Peeta laughed as Haymitch threw back the rest of his drink and stood with a drawn out groan to make another. Peeta checked the clock and saw almost an hour had passed since he had been at Gale's.

"Gale should have been here by now."

Haymitch paused on his way to the kitchen and scratched at the back of his head.

"You're right, I'll go check on him. You stay here."

Peeta was on his feet in seconds.

"I'm coming with."

"Yeah I thought that might be futile, but I gave it a shot."

They both left the house and headed back towards the Seam. It was dark out now and Peeta was worried. He never should have left Gale. If something happened to him Peeta didn't know how he would handle it. He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as he followed behind Haymitch. There was a crowd gathering in the town square when they turned the corner and knowing it to be expressly forbidden Peeta wondered what could be happening to cause people to break that rule.

"What's going on?"

Haymitch didn't respond. He moved in front of Peeta, standing on his toes to try and catch a glimpse of what was going on before his whole body went rigid. He came to a sudden halt in front of Peeta and stopped his progress.

"Go, now. I'll meet you back at my house, get out of here." He looked back at Peeta with a harsh lined face. Peeta didn't like that look or what it was withholding.

"What? No."

His worst fears now cannibalizing themselves, Peeta pushed forward into the crowd desperate for answers. What was happening that was so bad Haymitch tried to send him home? The crowd parted before Peeta, most with downcast eyes of shame and fear while others hissed warnings like 'go back,' and 'you'll only make it worse.'

Then Peeta saw it, what everyone else had gathered to witness. The whipping post was being put to use for the first time Peeta had seen. The man tied to the post was Gale. He was whipped into unconsciousness and his back looked like the raw meat of a skinned deer, flesh hung off in tattered bits and blood smeared across his back and down to stain the top of his pants. It was like standing in the center of a tornado, everything around him swirled in a blurred mess that he couldn't focus on, all he could see was the eye of the storm where Gale laid weak and beaten and Romulus Thread stood with his blood dripping whip, reeling back for another go.

"NO! STOP!"

Peeta threw himself forward. Everything in his mind screamed no. He couldn't feel anything. He couldn't think. He just acted on instinct and that instinct was telling him to protect. His body flew before Romulus and extended itself to protect Gale's crumpled form. The furious whip tore threw the air and lashed up across his bared arm at an angle, tearing into as much flesh as possible. It sliced into the flesh like the sharpened blade of a knife and if Romulus hadn't hesitated at the last second it could have cut threw to the bone. A scream slipped from Peeta's mouth before he collapsed to the ground next to Gale, but he disregarded the fire that exploded from his left arm and burned its way up to his shoulder. Instead he turned on the ground to look at Gale. He wasn't moving. He feared the worst. Then there was more yelling.

"Look what you've done! You idiot!" Haymitch was yelling. He was furious.

"Look what I did?" Romulus balked, but his shifty eyes darted over Peeta's face in recognition. His whip was raised again, ready to dispense more fiery punishment. "He's the imbecile that ran before of my whip. I'm dispensing a punishment, no one interferes!"

"He's our Victor and he's getting married at the Capitol after the reaping in a month! There's no way that's going to be healed by then." Haymitch pointed with a shaking finger at Peeta. "I'll be calling the Capitol first thing upon returning home."

Romulus pursed his lip in thought. He didn't look like the type that liked to be outmaneuvered or have his power called in to question, but he also didn't want to anger the Capitol. With a convulsive twitch of the hand the whip finally lowered and he jerked his head towards Gale. "Take him then and be glad it wasn't a death sentence."

The pain flared in Peeta's left arm like an untamed wildfire, consuming everything in its path. But Peeta fought back the pain and cradled Gale in his body after untying his wrists from the post. They were shredded too, probably from fighting against the restraints as the whip cracked against his back in unrelenting punishment. Thankfully more bodies appeared, his father and Mr. Ebsin, the man hired to fix the Everdeen's roof, moved in to help Peeta. Haymitch helped Peeta to stand and it was then that he realized he was crying. He cradled his arm carefully against his chest while the other men moved quickly to carry Gale. He still wasn't moving. He looked like a corpse and Peeta had to look away.

It was then that Peeta noticed most of the crowd had dispersed, fearful after watching such brutal punishment. He saw Romulus storming off in the direction of the Peacekeeper village and he was berating another man. It was Darius. His face was a mess. His right eye bruised a nasty shade of purple and swollen shut while his nose looked broken, there was dried blood all over his face and a few teeth seemed to be missing. His head was bowed in either silent shame or repressed anger. What had happened?

No one talked as they worked quickly and efficiently to build a gurney that could carry Gale to the Everdeen's. He needed to be lain on his stomach, which left Peeta an uninterrupted view of his shredded back. The flesh was angry and red and terribly bloody. So much blood. It radiated an almost visible heat.

As they rushed through the tight streets of the Seam to Mrs. Everdeen's Peeta's father filled him in on what happened. Apparently Gale went after Darius. He beat him pretty good before he was caught and Romulus brought down his whip. It could have easily been a death sentence, but Madge had been there to plead his case. She claimed to have witnessed Darius provoke Gale and with his past track record he couldn't argue it. Peeta wondered where she was now, but he was extremely grateful she had been there to stand up for Gale otherwise this could have gone down much worse. Either way this was his fault. He shouldn't have brought Gale into this.

Mrs. Everdeen flew into action mode once they arrived. Someone must have got to her earlier to warn her of Gale's arrival because she was prepared with a table cleared for him and supplies at the ready. It was amazing to see the seemingly meek woman transform into a fearless caregiver.

"Haymitch, do you have any ice?"

"Already going."

Haymitch took off at a sprint back to his place while Mr. Ebsin backed out and wished us well. Prim pulled Peeta to the side to examine his arm while Mrs. Everdeen worked to clean Gale's back. Peeta's dad hung in the back not wanting to get in the way, but watching with a wary eye prepared to jump in and help if needed.

"Sit." Prim tried to push Peeta down so she could work on patching up his arm, but he barely gave it notice. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Gale. He was still unconscious and he prayed he stayed that way, but he had also never wanted more than to see those blue eyes alert and trained on him at that moment.

"Fuck!" Peeta hissed and jumped back to reality before Prim. She had just applied some mint-scented cream to the gashed flesh of his arm. The cut from the whip was about ten inches long and sliced its way up from his forearm to his bicep in a curved bow shape.

"Sorry, but this will keep it from getting infected and help it heal. You're going to need a sling for that otherwise you'll tear it open every time you bend your elbow."

Peeta watched Prim with a renewed interest as she worked to place a makeshift sling around his arm. This wasn't the little girl he was used to; she was serious and quiet with a laser like focus on the task at hand. Things had changed in the last year and she was no longer the innocent younger sister of Katniss. She was forced to grow up fast as she witnessed renewed atrocities at the hands of the Capitol.

When Haymitch returned he came with a large block of ice from his freezer. It was sweating profusely from the heat of the evening and so Mrs. Everdeen sent them quick to work. Haymitch and Mr. Mellark worked with picks to crush the ice into a slushy mixture. Once it was fine and powdery like snow Mrs. Everdeen quickly mixed it with some other herbal medicines.

"Why don't you give him some of the painkillers now?" Peeta asked in a confrontational tone. They needed to do more!

"He's unconscious now. I'd rather wait to give it to him once he wakes. The pain is going to be severe no matter what we do." Mrs. Everdeen answered, unfazed by Peeta's aggressive tone.

As she applied the homemade snow coat to Gale's back he finally began to stir. A terrible whimper slipped from his chapped lips. Peeta rushed to his side and swept back the hair from his eyes. Prim gave him a cool compress to apply to his forehead and some painkillers to swallow once he fully regained consciousness. The snow sizzled like frying bacon in a pan from the heat of Gale's tormented back. The pain in Peeta's arm was like a conduit to the pain Gale must be suffering, it amplified back at Peeta ten, twenty, a thousand fold and still it never could match what Gale was to endure now. He eventually woke and was delirious with pain. Hazelle came by after getting someone to watch her children and Peeta tried to apologize, feeling this was his fault, but she barely spoke a word. Her eyes were glazed over with a vacant look, a defense mechanism to the pain she no doubt endured after the death of her husband in the mines. Mrs. Everdeen assured her he was lucky Haymitch had ice otherwise this could have been much worse for him. The summer months were the hardest to treat victims of whipping. Peeta came to understand that at one point this was a much more common occurrence and he couldn't help but think this was all ramping up again only because of him, because of the threat of rebellion.

There was a knock on the door and Prim answered it to find Madge. She seemed a nervous wreck with wild hair matted to her head with sweat and out of breath probably from running. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying.

"I brought him some morphling, it's my mother's own private stash. She said he could have it all." She held out in her hand three small vials of a clear liquid. Morphling.

She left soon after passing it off to Prim, a stifled sob escaping her lips as she turned and ran. Peeta wondered what her relationship was to Gale, because she seemed more upset than any casual acquaintance of Gale's should be. But she didn't stick around either, which was odd. Gale had never once mentioned being friends with Madge, but then Peeta remembered the night of the Victory Tour and how he had been standing in the crowd with Madge. So they definitely knew each other. He wondered why Gale might keep this from him? A sour taste filled in the back of his mouth and he sipped on Gale's water with the hope of washing it out.

With the morphling administered, Gale visibly relaxed, the tension flooding out of him like the breaking of a dam. Peeta declined the offered snow coat for his arm; he refused to take any when Gale so desperately needed it. He sat in the same wooden chair Gale sat in while watching over Peeta when he had been shot. It was his turn to keep constant vigil next to his friend. He caused this and so he would suffer the pain of a whip lashed arm and more if needed.

"S'good stuff…" Gale mumbled, turning his head to the side to look at Peeta. There were those blue eyes, drugged and droopy, but not yet willing to give up. "M'shrry."

Taking Gale's hand in his, Peeta squeezed it tight and shushed him. "Don't. You have nothing to be sorry for. Try to rest."

Gale murmured more unintelligible things to himself, but seemed to take Peeta's word and tried to rest. His hand hung limp in Peeta's and he watched as consciousness slowly drifted from him like a boat unmoored. With nothing more left for Mrs. Everdeen to do she collapsed in her bed behind the partition, obviously exhausted by the nights events. Haymitch left along with Peeta's father, promising to check back in tomorrow with more ice. They told him to try and get some sleep too. Peeta wished he could sleep, but knew it would never come to him. Not tonight. A live wire of electricity pulsed through the center of his body with shocks of worry and fear. Everything was so fucked and nothing was getting better. Peeta didn't know what was left that could be done. It all seemed so futile.

After Prim joined her mother to sleep Peeta was left alone to care for Gale. He kept applying fresh snow coats across the mangled landscape of his back. Peeta tried to make a count of the number of times the whip had cracked across Gale's back, but it was only guesswork due to the nature of the wound. Some slashes across his back were deeper than others from where the whip had sliced into his skin more than once. Tears built in the corners of Peeta's eyes and he wiped at them furiously with his one good hand, not wanting to leave Gale's hand empty for long. Companionship was all he could offer at the moment and this display of weakness was inhibiting that. He cursed himself for being so weak when there was a sudden flash of light. The brilliance of it illuminated the night sky like the sun were rising early and speared through the windows. Then the explosive sound followed. It rattled the windows and floorboards of the house. Dogs howled in fear and Prim's cat buttercup suddenly tore out from its nest under the cabinet hissing in fear.

"What happening?" Prim screeched.

Peeta stood up—the chair knocked back by his abrupt movement—and ran to the door. Outside he looked to the west and saw a giant ball of fire mushrooming in the air before it evaporated into smoke. Lantern lights flickered into life all around as people woke and wondered out into the street looking for the source of the explosion. Peeta could tell by the direction and placement of the fire it was the hob. Someone had blown it up. Peeta had a good bet on who was the culprit. A woman's cry reached Peeta's ears and he tore off towards the fire with out thinking, disregarding Prim's call after him.

He reached the site of the Hob only to find utter destruction. Everything had been leveled by the blast, including a few of the shacks that surrounded the giant structure. Ember's filtered down from the sky like burning snowflakes turning the world into a hell like nightmare. Peeta rushed about looking for any injured. No one would have been in the Hob at night, but Peeta, soon joined by others looking to help, found a woman and her son buried beneath the rubble of her home. He tried desperately to lift a fallen beam, but his injured arm made it impossible.

"Over here! People are trapped!"

A group of men, miners by the look of them, went to quick work digging the woman and her son out of the ruins of her home. Peeta scanned the area for more possibly trapped when he noticed Romulus standing off to the side in a shadowed alleyway, a vile smile planted on his face. Things suddenly got a little fuzzy and Peeta felt faint for a moment. He was forced to take a seat on a smoldering trunk. Next thing he knew a man was in front of him asking if he was all right.

"What?"

"I asked are you okay, boy?" The gruff man asked.

Peeta took stock of his surroundings and realized he was alone again. Where had everyone gone? There had just been people here working to rescue that family.

"Yeah, sorry. Just in shock."

"Yeah, that shits been happenin'." He commented before wondering off into the wreckage of the hob, probably scouring for anything salvageable.

Back at the Everdeen's Peeta found Gale fast asleep and the snow coat melted. He wet some washcloths in the cold liquid of the melted snow coat and applied them to Gale's back. He couldn't help but trace the contours of his back with his eyes. It was terrible to think such a nice strong back would be marred forever with the scars of tonight. A permanent reminder of the cost of Peeta's friendship. Peeta shook his head of such disturbing thoughts and took his seat back by Gale's head. His hand still hung limp over the side of the table and Peeta took it in his again except this time Gale's hand reflexively tightened its hold. Peeta smiled lightly before the exhaustion hit him like a train and carried him off to the land of dreams.

He dreamt of wild things that night. Twelve was burning before him and there was nothing he could do, but watch as the flames devoured his home and everyone in it. He was at the Capitol and Cato was waiting in a blue tuxedo to marry him, except he couldn't seem to bring his feet to move toward the altar. Then District Thirteen attacked and Gale appeared from nowhere, begging Peeta to follow him. He woke to Primrose poking his shoulder.

"You were having a nightmare."

Peeta rubbed the sleepers from his eyes and thanked Prim for the milk she offered him fresh from Lady.

"How is he?" He nodded towards Gale.

Prim shrugged. "Good as can be given the circumstances. Mom went to go treat some injured by the Hob explosion last night while Gale's still sleeping. Haymitch hasn't come yet, could you maybe check on him and get the other ice block?"

"Yeah, sure."

Peeta shook his head, having a feeling he would find Haymitch comatose with an empty bottle of booze. There was no way he would have shirked his duty unless he drank himself unconscious. Once outside he noticed most of the tin roofs were layered with a fine dusting of ash, almost like an apocalyptic snow. But that wasn't the worst thing he noticed. Not only had the Hob been destroyed last night, but also the mines had been shut down. Small notices had been posted to everyone's door over the course of the night notifying them the mines would be closed indefinitely. Peeta couldn't think of a time when the mines had been shut down, but he knew it only meant bad things. People relied on the mines for their livelihood. The hours were crap, the pay terrible and the work dangerous, but it was all they had and with out it people would starve.

Then Peeta halted in his tracks, all thoughts blown from his mind as he entered the town square. Blood still stained the pavement at the base of the whipping post. Gale's blood. But that wasn't what drew Peeta's attention, what made it feel as if a ghost were reaching out and crushing his airway. No, what drew Peeta's attention where the gallows at the far end of the square. Another crowd had gathered, this time by the looks of it against their will. Peacekeepers flanked the wooden structure of the gallows with their rifles in hand and menacing looks pinned to their face. People whispered in confusion as Romulus marched two women onto the platform and placed the noose around their necks. They were gagged and bound at the hands, but silent tears streaked down their terrified faces. Peeta's vision wavered before him. This had to be a dream, a hallucination. It wasn't real. But the bile that bit at the back of his tongue tasted real enough and so was the sound of the release lever as the trap door below their feet let out. Their necks snapped with the force of the drop and echoed across the fearfully silent square like the crack of a gun. They died right before Peeta's eyes and he had to pretend he was just as confused as to whom these two girls were like the rest of the onlookers. But he knew exactly who they were because he had met them only the day before. They were the refugees from the woods yesterday afternoon, Bonnie and Twill. And now they were executed by the Capitol.


	12. The Rebel

Ch. 12- The Rebel

The district was starving. The mines still weren't open. Almost a full month had passed since the explosion at the Hob and Gale's whipping, but still the Capitol inflicted their punishment on the innocent like they had openly incited a rebellion yesterday. An air of desperation settled over the District like a foul smog. The longer it hung in the air the more it filled their lungs and seeped into their brains. People were being driven to extreme measures to survive, but opportunities were severely limited with the fence electrified at all hours now. Lines of woman, some as shockingly young as twelve, began building outside the male Peacekeeper's homes waiting and hoping for a chance to sell themselves for a bit of money or food. Children with distended bellies became an all too common sight. A few have even resorted to suicide to escape.

Peeta tried his best to keep those closest too him from feeling the full effects of the starvation. With his winnings he was able to keep food on their tables and hope in their hearts. But with each passing day hope never gave way to a better day. Primrose was distraught to find one morning that her goat Lady had been stolen and was now probably someone's dinner. Gale had moved in with Peeta like he planned, but now it was on Peeta's insistence so he could help nurse him back to full health. It was a long and painful few weeks for Gale as the wounds on his back healed. The herbal paste Mrs. Everdeen had concocted did wonders for helping speed up the healing process, but the scabs itched something fierce and created limited mobility for Gale for almost a week straight.

During that time Darius disappeared from public view. Many assumed Romulus dealt with him personally, wanting to mitigate any future scandals that might be the last push the District needed to an all out rebellion. It was a precarious game everyone played as the District balanced at the precipice of war and death. Peeta wasn't sure where he fit into that game anymore, everyone around him continued to get hurt no matter what he did.

Most days it was just Gale and Peeta. Prim and her mom would stop by every now and then, to check up on their patient and to socialize with Peeta. Haymitch kept to himself the closer it got to the Reaping. He was suffering some pretty rough withdrawals due to the Hobs destruction and thus his only source for white liquor. He wasn't a pleasant person on most days, but now it was even worse and everyone gave him a wide berth.

Living with Gale was nothing like Peeta expected. Obviously he hadn't thought he'd spend most of it playing caretaker to a recuperating Gale, but on top of that he never had to share his home with anyone other than family. At first he reverted back to his quiet, submissive self out of habit. When he lived with his brothers and Mother it was best to just go unnoticed and roll over when they were in a mood. But sharing a house with Gale, a true friend, was nothing like having to share a room with his two vindictive brothers. Gale was the perfect roommate; conscientious and courteous and desperate to pull his own weight, which led to a blow out fight one night because his back still wasn't healed enough to be doing chores around the house. Peeta wasn't about to let him reinjure himself just because he wanted to pick up around the bedroom. Gale's stubbornness made it a long night, but Peeta managed to get his way—mostly. But if Peeta didn't keep his eye on Gale he'd find a chore done that shouldn't have been. In the end it was just best to turn a blind eye as long as they were little chores and not the heavy lifting.

It was an interesting experience, sharing a home with someone other than family. Peeta learned a lot about himself over the course of the month with Gale that he never really knew. Like how he really enjoyed cooking when he had someone to do it for or just how much more content he was having someone in the house. It was crushingly lonely spending most of his days in an empty house and just the knowledge that there was someone else in it with him put his nerves at ease. He also learned a lot about Gale that he'd never noticed before. Like how he had the habit of chewing his fingernails when bored and that he often talked under his breath to himself when thinking. The little quirks only endeared him more to his friend. It felt nice to be able to know someone so intimately and have them know him in return; like how Gale knew to distract Peeta with stories when he quiet grew because otherwise he'd be trapped by the dark thoughts that swarmed his brain like an invasion of summer cicadas.

It was the day before the Reaping and there was really nothing either of them could do to take their minds off it as they tried to watch the television. It hung in the back of their minds like an unwanted guest who'd greatly overstayed her welcome. There was no way to get rid of it and ignoring it wasn't a possibility. On top of it all Peeta hadn't heard from Cato in weeks and with the Reaping tomorrow he couldn't help but let his fears get the best of him. What did it mean? Was Cato done trying to make them work? Had something happened? Or was he just trying to minimize the pain if one of them were to be sent back into the Arena? There was no way to get answers and Peeta grew irrationally irate, standing in a huff and throwing the remote at the television.

"Peeta?"

Gale came back from the kitchen with a glass of water and a question on his face, stopping Peeta's march from the room. Peeta deflated just as quickly as the anger had flared inside him. He was acting childish and he knew it.

"Sorry, I just couldn't listen to that crap anymore."

"I know it's all sickening. They act like nothings wrong. Like everything is perfect in the world and we're not starving and fighting for out lives out here." Gale nodded in understanding before taking a large gulp of water. Peeta watched his Adam's apple work against his throat as he swallowed.

Peeta shook his head to clear it and leaned back against the doorjamb they stood in.

"I'm just so tired of it all, Gale. When will it end?"

Gale wiped some moisture from his upper lip across the back of his hand. Peeta stole the glass of water from him and finished it off, suddenly parched.

"I don't know. It's all so fucked up. They live in luxury in the Capitol I can't even imagine, taking what they want from us —what they think they're entitled to—and give nothing back. They take and take and take, our kids, our food, our resources; they'd bleed us dry if it gave them benefits. We mean nothing to them and yet everything. With out us—"

"There'd be no them." Peeta finished for Gale. He stood ramrod straight as an idea suddenly blossomed forth in his mind. It had always been there, but never taken seriously. Not until now. But it should have come sooner. Hadn't he already made this decision once before, back in the games?

"I'll be back, I—I just have to see Haymitch real quick."

"Okay," Gale shrugged and moved towards the couch, careful not to lean on his still sore back.

Surprised, Peeta found Haymitch in his backyard. He was on his back, one behind his head the other fiddling with a dandelion against his chest, while staring up at the sky. It was a disconcerting image. It wasn't often that Peeta found Haymitch in a relaxed position, seemingly daydreaming, while outside. Peeta was afraid to disturb him, but of course he already had.

"Afternoon, Peeta."

His eyes never left the azure sky. Peeta wondered what he was contemplating. Things like a rebellion and a better Panem? Or maybe a lost love? There were so many things Peeta didn't know about this man that he had so quickly come to love and respect.

"You doing okay?"

"Humph, okay. That's a very subjective word, but I guess ya could say so. I'm no longer suffering night sweats and the debilitating urge to drink."

He stood from the lawn, brushing off the grass that clung to his back.

"You came to visit for a reason? Other than that the Reaping is tomorrow."

"It kind of has to do with that." Peeta took a deep breath. He thought of taking their conversation elsewhere, somewhere more private, but the houses were probably under surveillance. Outdoors seemed safest for now. So he laid it all out in one rushed breath. "I want to start a rebellion."

Haymitch stared at Peeta for a minute like he hadn't said anything at all before the corner of his lip twitched, almost as if he wanted to smile, but instead he shook his head.

"You don't know what you want."

"That's not true." Peeta bristled indignantly. Haymitch knew nothing of what he did or did not want. He knew nothing of the defiance that lived deep in his bones and constantly thwarted his more rational motivations of compliance to the Capitol. "People are dying. More are going to die soon. Eight has already rebelled—"

"—How do you know this?"

"It doesn't matter." Peeta spoke, growing more animated by the minute. "More could be ready to fight right now or they're just waiting for someone like me to make a stand. Something needs to change!"

Haymitch's eyes shifted about before settling on Peeta's. His stare was deeply penetrative and Peeta grew uncomfortable under it. Actually he was starting to feel nauseous and light headed, like he had suddenly jumped to his feet and the blood in his head had yet to follow. The collar of his shirt was too tight around his neck and he tugged at it needing more airflow.

Haymitch took a breath in preparation before he spoke. "If this is what you really want there is something I should—Peeta?"

Haymitch's voice distorted like he was shouting from the end of a long tunnel. The world spun and then all Peeta saw was blue as he hit the ground. Finally everything went black and silent.

Peeta came to in his bedroom surround by worried faces. Gale was seated in a chair right by the bed, his face inches from Peeta anxiously inspecting him. Haymitch stood off to the side with an uneasy expression settled into the wrinkles of his face and then Prim was stationed at the foot of his bed with a mug of herbal smelling tea.

"Uh, what's going on?"

"You don't remember?" Haymitch asked; eyes sharp like a hawk.

"You fainted!" Gale said a little strangled. "Haymitch said you were talking outside when you got this vacant stare and then just tipped backwards, rigid like a plank of wood."

"I—I don't remember…" Peeta tried to think back on this morning and it was all just a fuzzy memory. "I don't remember anything after lunch. Is something wrong with me?"

Prim shook her head and moved forward, pushing Gale back from the bed to hand Peeta the tea. It had a strong bitter smell.

"It's probably just an effect of the fainting spell. You're stressing too much about tomorrow. Drink this, it'll renew you," Prim said all professional. It never ceased to surprise him how natural she was with this stuff. It had to be from all those years of watching her mother work.

"But what if it is something? Haymitch!" Gale stood and marched over to him, grabbing his arm. "You've got to call in a doctor from the Capitol. He needs a proper check up!"

Haymitch heaved a sigh carding a hand through his long hair.

"The Reaping is tomorrow, there's nothing they'll do."

Peeta was beginning to worry Gale was right. Maybe something was wrong. Things had been weird for a few months, small things that maybe if he strung them together in the proper order would mean something. But at the moment he didn't have the frame of mind or proper context to put it together. He started scrabbling at the sheets, trying to climb out when Prim threw out an arm against his chest to stop him.

"You need to rest and Gale you need to leave. You're not helping Peeta right now, you're just getting him worked up." Prim spoke in a demanding tone that left no room for questioning. Her stare was as fierce as Katniss's and Gale quickly agreed in the face of it, bowing his head and backing out.

"Sorry, you're right. I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

Both Haymitch and Gale left the room after that and Prim settled into the empty chair next to the bed. She had a bright smile planted back on her face and a twinkle in her olive eyes.

"What?"

"Oh nothing."

It didn't seem like nothing to Peeta. She was smiling over something, but she soon turned quietly thoughtful.

"So what's up?"

"Huh?" Peeta cocked his head in confusion. Prim smirked before pushing at his hand that held the tea. He took another big sip and he had to admit he was feeling better. The warm liquid calmed his stomach and cleared the fog from his brain, although he still couldn't remember much after lunch with Gale.

"How are things with Cato?"

"Fine—" Peeta chocked off at the end of the word. He couldn't even begin to lie about it and so he threw back the rest of the tea before twisting in the bed to face Prim, legs dangling over the edge of the bed. "Okay that's a lie. Things are far from fine." A plaintive sigh escaped his throat. Was she the appropriate person to talk to about this? "I haven't heard from Cato in weeks. I just want to know what's going on. Is he okay? Are we?" Peeta flung his hands about in exasperation, deciding she had seen more than he had at her age and relationship drama was the least of it. "What if he is done with me and that's how he's choosing to end it, just by cutting me out. I know things are difficult for him in Two because of me and I wouldn't blame him for cutting me loose. I'm probably more trouble than it's worth…"

Prim just sat and listened. She didn't interrupt or try to assuage him of his fears. She just gave him her undivided attention and it was actually a relief to finally get it all off his chest. He could have told Gale, but it didn't seem like something he could talk about. They never really talked about Cato when together.

"Do you still want to be together?"

"Yes, of course! But…" Peeta couldn't look her in the eyes as he thought this. He was ashamed of these thoughts, but they couldn't be helped. "But I just wonder are… are we meant to last?"

Prim said nothing. She just kept looking at Peeta. There was no judgment, just patience as she waited for him to continue speaking.

"I mean I want us to last. I still love him, but I can't help but wonder if this is how it should be. Should it be this hard? It's been so long since I've seen him and we were together so short a period of time. Would we even be able to make it work long term in person? Is he even the same person? Who am I anymore? A rebel, a lover, a leader or a pawn? I don't know!" His fist slammed down against the mattress in frustration. "The only thing I do know is he was the first person I ever loved, but does that necessarily mean he'll be the last? We don't even know what it's like to be with each other every day, what if we don't work together. We only know fighting to survive and so what if we could be together, in person and just living life. Would that be enough? There are so many what ifs in my mind and I don't know the answer to any of them. We've been in a relationship for almost a year now and there is so much I don't know about him. So many little things you learn that only comes with being with someone everyday."

"Like with you and Gale?" Prim asked and it was like a ton of bricks had just been dropped on top of him. All his breath was expelled from his lungs and he was at a loss for what to say. He just gaped at her like some fish out of water, mouth slowly opening and closing. "You two have spent almost every day together for the last month and then every afternoon and Sunday before that. You must know all sorts of the 'little things' about him."

She looked at Peeta keenly, but with out demands. Peeta tried to think of a reply, but there was nothing he could say. He didn't even know what she was getting at, but it troubled him. She smiled softly and rose, dusting off her jeans out of habit before saying there was more tea downstairs and to keep drinking it. Then she left to spend the evening with her mother before the Reaping tomorrow. It felt like a goodbye, even though they were both willfully ignoring it because a goodbye meant too many things they couldn't think about. Not now. Not yet.

Peeta hadn't necessarily avoided Gale the rest of that day so much as isolated himself in the bedroom. The hours seemed to be slipping away right before his very eyes and the more he tried to hold on to them the faster they fell through his fingers. Soon it would be the morning of the Reaping and everyone's life would be irrevocably changed once again. Peeta wasn't ready to face that, but eventually he would, there was no denying it. So he sucked it up and went downstairs to see what he could scrounge up for a late dinner. His memory still had yet to return to him and he worried that if he continued to isolate himself he'd go further down the rabbit hole of crazy theories.

It was quiet in the house and for a brief moment Peeta panicked that he had been left alone. But then the backdoor opened and Gale came in, something hidden behind his back.

"Peeta! You're up."

"What you got there?" Peeta asked, angling his head to try and see around Gale. He danced to the side and shook his head, a playful quirk of his sculpted jaw aimed Peeta's way.

"You'll see in a minute. Have some food, I cooked." He pointed with his free hand to the plate set out on the counter that Peeta just now noticed. It was just a sandwich, but Peeta wasn't picky. He picked it up and devoured it in a few bites.

Gale moved to the cabinet and took out two glasses before pulling from behind his back a clear bottle of white liquor.

"Where'd you get that?" Peeta asked stunned. Since the Hob had burned down no one had found a way to smuggle in the illegal liquor. If they had Haymitch would have found it.

"I had a little stash of my own, just for such occasions as tonight."

He poured a liberal amount of the alcohol in the glasses. Then handed one to Peeta and clinked the glass in cheers before taking a sip. He hissed at the burn.

"And what's the occasion?"

Peeta observed the liquor for a moment unsure if he wanted to indulge after the day he had, but Gale seemed to relax immensely after the first sip.

"Our last night of freedom before the Hunger Games machine ramps up again and we're forced to watch all that bloodshed for sport." Gale smiled charmingly and Peeta felt one spread on his face in return. Then it fell away as he remembered Prim's words.

"C'mon," Gale shoulder bumped Peeta. He couldn't deny Gale's attitude was infectious. "Everything could be fucked by tomorrow so why not enjoy the now?"

"Fine, but if I'm hungover tomorrow I'm volunteering you for the Quarter Quell." Peeta pointed the glass at Gale threateningly before throwing it back all in one go.

"Ha! Shit, you took that like a pro." Gale guffawed.

"That's not all I can take," Peeta replied salaciously, a single eyebrow cocked Gale's way. Gale stared at him in disbelief for a moment, jaw hanging limply before Peeta crowded forward and closed it for him with his index finger. "Close that mouth, you're drooling."

Then Peeta leaned past him to grab the liquor bottle—ignoring how Gale stiffened when their chests brushed together for a second and the tickle of breath against his ear—before heading into the living room. He wasn't sure what came over him, maybe it was the liquor, but Peeta wasn't about to question it. Gale was right; everything could be fucked tomorrow, so tonight he wasn't going to think about it. Tonight he would drink.

He was followed to the couch soon after by Gale, who cleared his throat before taking a seat and downing the rest of his drink in one go like Peeta and then pouring another.

"I guess the good thing about all this is you don't have to worry about any of your brother's getting reaped this year." Peeta said. He was trying to go for lighthearted, because really that was good news, but Gale's eyes only darkened at the mere mention of tomorrow.

"I still have to worry about you."

They both fell into a silence after that. Peeta poured more liquor and sipped on it this time already feeling the familiar sensation of the alcohol warming his stomach and buzzing his brain.

Eventually the conversation returned as they loosened with the liquor flooding through their system. Gale flipped on the television and they made a drinking game out of every time the Hunger Games was mentioned or a clip was shown from the previous games. Needless to say they got drunk real fast, both of them becoming sloppier with each cheer before they downed a sip of alcohol. Peeta leaned forward for a refill and lost his balance, sliding off the couch to land on his ass. Both of them burst out laughing. Tears came to Peeta's eyes at the hilarity of it all and he couldn't breath with the endlessness of his laughter. It was an unbelievable relief to be able to feel something other than a concoction of depressed anxiety and fearful paranoia.

"You okay?"

Gale clapped a hand to Peeta's shoulder and flopped down next to him. They both rested with their backs against the couch, their legs splayed out under the table in front of them. Peeta gave up on his effort to pour a new drink and instead took a drink straight from the bottle. Barely any was left. He held it out to Gale who took a gulp, finishing off their liquor.

Peeta's head felt foggy, but happy.

He needed to tell Gale this.

"I'm happy."

"Me too." Gale smiled and nudged his shoulder before leaving it there. Peeta felt like all his blood was rushing to that spot, overheating it. His blood was magnetized and Gale's touch was the matching magnetic force that brought it all to the surface in their joined shoulders.

"No, no, no. I mean I'm happy!" Peeta threw his hands up and around in a big arch. "Like that doesn't happen. Everything just—it just sucks… all the time!" Peeta twisted to look at Gale emphatically, his legs folded up between them now. It was very important Gale understood him! "But you don't suck and I—I'm glad we became friends. Wouldn't change a thing about it."

A bright smile spread across Gale's face, his cheeks dimpled with the pressure of it and his eyes blazed like sapphires before a fire. He looked at Peeta like he was the only light for miles in a crushing darkness. Suddenly he reached out and cupped Peeta's face with an open palm. The calloused pad of his thumb stroked against Peeta's cheekbone.

"You the most amazing person I've ever met." Gale spoke with a clarity they hadn't managed since the alcohol kicked in and it startled Peeta. The hand against his face was suddenly the only thing holding his head up. He felt hot all over, like his clothes were a size too small and sticking to him. The house really needed air conditioning. Fuck the Capitol.

"Peeta," Gale spoke his name like a prayer. Like there was only ever one word he needed to express himself and Peeta's name was that word. The melodious deep timber of his voice sang deep in Peeta's veins and he leaned forward as if pulled by a gravitational force. "Peeta, you saved me from myself. I was lost after Katniss, but you never gave up on me. You make me feel alive again. You make it all worth while."

And suddenly Gale was right in Peeta's face. His hot breath ghosted over Peeta's skin. He smelled of the white liquor and something distinctly Gale, like the forest after a summer rain. Crisp and mossy. Their noses brushed and then Gale finally pushed their lips together ever so softly. His lips seared against Peeta's like the kiss of a fire hot poker to the skin, eating away everything inside Peeta until all that was left was Gale's name and the feel of his lips and stubble against Peeta's. A tongue, Peeta couldn't even tell whose, slipped into a warm and inviting mouth and moved against the others in gentle swipes. The heady fog of alcohol in his brain mixed with the sudden flare of lust and pushed the two of them closer together until Peeta was practically sitting in Gale's lap. His strong arms wrapped around Peeta's back, one snaking around his neck and holding him tight as the other massaged the lower point of his back, just above his shorts. Peeta's hands threaded through Gale's thick brown hair and tugged, angling for a deeper kiss that had them both groaning.

The kiss was rough and passionate, yet tame and confident. It begged for Peeta to let loose, to give in and share everything. It was a kiss unlike any kiss Peeta had ever had before and that was because he had only ever kissed one person—

What am I doing? Peeta suddenly shoved away from Gale and his back collided against the coffee table. Ouch. The kiss ended just as suddenly as it had started. Gale's eyes flashed with lust and confusion and possibly hurt. His lips were swollen and red from the crashing of their lips and with his mussed up hair he looked absolutely sinful. Peeta needed distance. He scrambled back on his hands and ass across the floor further from Gale. All his balance was lost with the inebriated state of his mind.

"Peeta, I—" Gale tried to reach out for him.

"No!" Peeta held up a hand and cut him off. His voice was louder, harsher than he intended and Gale bowed his head in shame. He remained where he was on the floor next to the couch. Peeta tried to regain his breath, but he couldn't stop thinking about those lips on his. What those rough, coal-miner hands would feel like against his bare skin. Peeta shivered and stood abruptly, desperately needing to clear his head. "I shouldn't have done that—it was a mistake—I'm sorry."

Peeta then turned and ran up the stairs to his room, collapsing against the door once on the other side. His head spun with the alcohol and rapid movement. For a moment he worried he might throw up. He gripped the handle of the door and held on as he rode the dizzying spin of the room before his eyes. Cato. Cato. Cato. He chanted the name over and over in his mind, but the more he said the name the less meaning it held. The name became just a word and then a sound that had no meaning. It made no sense to him. He heard the crash of glass in the sink downstairs and his stomach tightened. Then the familiar sound of feet on the stairs and Peeta worried for a moment Gale was coming to check on him, but the sound of his feet moved past his bedroom and to the other guest room. Peeta let out his breath in a rush of air too loud for his sensitive ears before he slid down the door to the ground and put his head in his hands. Everything suddenly ached.

He remained there on the floor for what seemed like hours, but could have been minutes. He had no way of telling. The throb in his head never lessened and the nagging worry in the back of his mind told him maybe it wasn't from the alcohol or even the betrayal, but from the distance between him and Gale. Maybe he needed him as much as the other seemed to need him—which was a concept so foreign to him it was like trying to make oil and water mix, it just refused to comply.

The air in the room tasted stale and a fuzzy film developed along the inside of his mouth. Peeta needed water. He stood and quietly opened the door, cringing at the obscene amount of noise it created. Then he moved down the hall towards the bathroom, tip-toeing by Gale's bedroom so as not to alert him to his presence outside the room. He filled a tall glass to the brim with drinkable tap water and then downed it all in one go. He felt reasonably better after that. He filled it up again to take with him back to his room. Except on his return he found himself stopping outside Gale's door. It was as if every fiber of his being was alive and screaming at him to just go in, just knock, just give a sign that he was out here. It was too much and he couldn't move. He could barely function. Peeta was immobilized by the sound of his bodies need, screaming like thousands of crazed Capital fans. He finally came to rest his forehead against the door and felt a tear slip out of his closed eyes.

This wasn't right. And yet the worst part was it didn't feel wrong.

Then the door suddenly opened and Peeta fell forward, in past the threshold of the door and right before Gale. He stood tall in a pair of boxers and a black v-neck that exposed too much tantalizing golden smooth skin. Gale's eyes were bloodshot and his mouth was pinched in a tight line. But then the pain all washed away as Peeta let out a strangled noise. It sounded like 'I need…' and it was all Gale needed before he threw himself forward, grabbing Peeta's shoulders and pulling them together in a tight embrace. Peeta's feet were suddenly wet as the sound of shattering glass cut through their stifled moans, the glass of water in Peeta's hand quickly forgotten as he threw his arms around Gale and gave himself over to the want of his body.

They stumbled backwards to the bed without interrupting the kiss. Teeth inadvertently clacked and stifled groans slipped from their throats. Even inadvertent pain was glorious. Gale reached behind him to grip his shirt and quickly pulled it over his head. Peeta did the same before their lips melded back together as one. Gale was a strong and confident kisser. He pulled on Peeta's bottom lip until it was swollen and red, then he pushed his tongue in against Peeta's and massaged in a steady rhythm. Gale's rough hands were splayed out on Peeta's back gripping and kneading the flesh like it was dough. The bare skin of their stomachs touched and Peeta could feel each individual muscle of Gale's chest twitch in anticipation. Peeta moved his hands down Gale's muscled back and was jolted back to reality at the feeling of the coarse and uneven scar tissue on Gale's back. Gale froze too, pulling back from the kiss and looking Peeta in the eye.

"I did it for you. To protect you. I regret nothing." He whispered deep and breathless. "I'd do it all over for you in a heartbeat."

"No. I couldn't handle it. Enough people have been hurt because of me…"

"Only because you're worth it."

Peeta stroked the countless scars that laced Gale's back like chicken wire reverently. Each one a terrible reminder of the pain inflicted on the District because of Peeta, each lash like a cut to Peeta's resolve. Anymore and there'd be nothing left. It would all collapse.

A pair of hands cupped Peeta's face and pulled his eyes back up to Gale's. His look was scorching in its intensity, but comforting in its familiar warmth. Peeta let it chase away all the other mangled thoughts he had and gave over to the moment, because who knew what tomorrow would bring.

"You are worth everything."

His words showered Peeta, cleansing his burdened soul and freeing him. At least for the moment.

They fell to the bed and shed their bottoms, now completely naked. Gale gasped and Peeta wondered if this was his first. With a guy. He didn't want to ask, but he moved slowly. Kissing along Gale's broad shoulders and down his throat to the tuft of hair that grew between his pecs. Gale unleashed long wonton sighs that must have been trapped in the depths of his chest for months and now were finally allowed to escape. His hand hesitantly left its perch from Peeta's bicep—where it had been holding a fierce grip—and moved towards Peeta's manhood. He waffled for a moment and Peeta watched closely him for any signs of regret. Gale took a deep breath and then gripped. There was no fear of this being a mistake.

They moved slow and methodically. Every touch treasured, every kiss a revelation. Peeta ran a hand down the rigid contours of Gale's abdomen before lightly grazing his straining cock, which jumped in anticipation. Peeta couldn't help the smile that spread across his lips.

"Quit teasing." Gale gasped. Peeta bit down on a nipple before continuing his exploration of Gale's chest, using both tongue and hands.

"If you insist," Peeta gave a lustful smile before licking a strip down from the center of Gale's chest to the hair nestled above his impressive cock. Then in one fell swoop he swallowed the head of Gale's penis with out warning. The head was large and red and filled Peeta's mouth. Gale bit down on his knuckle to keep from screaming, the hand on Peeta's cock forgotten. The weight on his tongue was familiar to Peeta and he worked to swallow down more of Gale's length until his nose brushed against Gale's balls. He left a trail of saliva along Gale's cock, which he then gripped with his left hand and stroked in time with the bob of his head, never letting up on the suction. The angle of his head made it easier to take Gale's impressive length in. An urge to make Gale feel things he'd never felt before came over him and spurred him on, increasing the pace of his blowjob.

"Fuck, fuck, Peeta!" Gale cried out and pulled Peeta up from his dick.

Peeta finally looked back up at Gale's face afraid of what he might see. Regret, disgust? But instead he saw sweat beaded on his forehead and his mouth hung open. But it was Gale's eyes that held his attention as they smiled brighter than he'd ever seen. He looked truly happy and it was because of Peeta.

"I wont last any longer if you keep that up," Gale panted.

Peeta laughed and wiped his lips before lunging up to kiss Gale. His lips were soft as velvet yet forceful like steel and it set Peeta's nerves on fire.

"Do—do you want to…" Peeta wavered, unsure if it was appropriate, but Gale only watched him with encouragement. "Do you want to have sex?"

Gale grinned like a child before a table full of his favorite desserts. He crushed their lips together and flipped them so he was crowded over top of Peeta. The heat of their bodies made it feel like they were in a sweat lodge. Sweat trailed down the back of Peeta's neck before the sheets soaked it up. Gale panted raggedly before pulling back to look at Peeta carefully.

"I—I've never done—"

Peeta shushed him with a kiss. "It's okay. Just do what feels right."

If he trusted Gale with his life then he could trust him with this. Peeta spread his legs and Gale's eyes darkened with lust, all hesitancy wiped from his face and replaced with a steely determination. He slicked two fingers and pressed them against Peeta's hole. They slid in and a needy whimper fell from Peeta's lips. The pressure was nothing new, but Gale's fingers were longer and they reached deeper. Gale stroked Peeta's dick while working a third finger in and Peeta felt like his whole body was on fire. It had been so long since he'd been touched like this he forgot how consuming the pleasure was.

"I'm ready."

Gale's fingers froze inside of Peeta and his stare latched onto Peeta's. It was as if the very air between their eyes shimmered and danced with the heat of their stare. Then his fingers slid out of Peeta's hole and the loss led to another pitiful groan. Gale hurried to slick his cock with spit before aligning it with Peeta's hole. Peeta gripped the sheets and prepared. Then the pressure built as Gale pushed in and suddenly he slid to the base and they both cried out in unison. Gale fell forward, his chest against Peeta's and Peeta's legs wrapped around his back, resting above Gale's powerful glutes, which were strained tight. Every muscle in Gale's body was taut and the veins on his neck bulged as he struggled to remain still. Peeta squirmed underneath him, writhing in pleasure at the feeling of finally being filled, of finally feeling complete and connected, all because of Gale.

"Wh—why'd you stop?" Peeta asked strangled. He could barely focus. Gale was thicker than he was used to and it had been a while since anything had been in there besides fingers.

Gale didn't reply. Instead he rested his forehead against Peeta's and gave a tentative thrust. They both groaned in unison. Gale brought their lips together and finally began to move; building a steady rhythm that was strong and forceful, but caring and tentative. Peeta soon adjusted to Gale's girth and began to meet his thrusts, begging for it to go deeper. It felt like heaven's touch. The feeling of Gale's body atop him, his rigid member deep inside him, the sweat of their bodies mixing into an aroma distinctly their own. It didn't seem real. It was just a dream like the others, one's he never admitted to himself the following morning. Suddenly that familiar fire began building in the pit of his stomach as Gale's cock brushed over that spot inside him that lit him up like a roman candle. Gale's thrusts grew erratic, his hips stuttering as they worked in and out of Peeta's ass. A hand slipped between their sweaty abdomens and gripped Peeta's neglected cock.

"Oh, god!" Peeta threw his head back, crying out in ecstasy.

Gale latched his lips to Peeta's neck, sucking and kissing all over as he stroked Peeta. The sensations were too much. They overwhelmed him and his mind shut down as he plunged over the edge. His muscled clenched and Gale suddenly pounded faster into his hole as Peeta erupted between them in an explosion of white-hot pleasure that spiked through his whole body like a volcano exploding after a century of dormancy. The sheer force of it was enough to blow everything else from his mind. Gale's gruff cry mingled with Peeta's as his body tensed and his stomach muscles convulsed with the emptying of his seed deep in Peeta. At some point their hands had found one another and entwined in a tight grip, riding out the waves of their orgasm until their skin was white from the pressure.

Slowly Gale pulled out from Peeta and he winced, sore and spent, but also missing the sensation of being filled and connected on such a primal level to Gale. The bed bounced when Gale fell to the side of Peeta, exhausted and with a silly grin on his face, Peeta was reminded how drunk he still was. The room kept bouncing even though they both had stopped moving. His hand sought back out Gale's rougher one and his rabid heartbeat finally began to come under control. No more words were spoken. Peeta wasn't sure it was because they didn't know what to say or that there was just no need to speak. He had never been more conflicted and satisfied and it scared him.

Eventually they both drifted of to sleep, the Reaping the furthest thing from their minds.

Like the snap of a finger Peeta was suddenly at attention. Sleep flew from his body in a second and everything he did from the night before slammed back into his mind like a bullet tearing through his skull. He remained motionless as the onslaught of memories cascaded before his still closed eyes. Then he began to take stock of other things. Everything felt heavy like he was dressed in damp clothing and his mouth tasted like stale liquor. One thing in particular stood out, Gale's limb was thrown possessively across his torso sticky with sweat and their legs were tangled together so that one couldn't tell where the other began.

Peeta opened his eyes to see Gale asleep next to him. He took in Gale's naked form, the dirty blonde hairs that dusted his golden tanned chest, the deep grooves in his hip that pointed like arrows to his flaccid penis. It was tantalizing, despite everything it meant. He had to avert his eyes as a stab of shame hit him like an elbow between the shoulder blades. The pain was sharp and piercing, spreading outwards in his body, leaving him numb and vacant feeling.

What have I done? Peeta knew he had made the ultimate betrayal. The ring on his left hand suddenly felt heavier like it was tied to a cinderblock. It was a burden he wasn't sure he could carry. The finger might break.

Disentangling from Gale and crawling from bed Peeta scurried to his room where he dressed in last years outfit for the Reaping. A simple white button up shirt and black slacks—slightly worn at the knees from years of use. In the mirror he caught a purpling bruise on the side of his neck. In the same spot where Gale had kissed. Fuck. There was no way to hide it, he tried pulling the collar of his shirt up, but it only hid about half the bruise. His only hope was that everyone would be too preoccupied with the Reaping to be paying attention to his neck. They still didn't know how the girl tribute's slot would be resolved. Peeta gave a shudder like an icy draft had sifted through the room.

As silently as possible Peeta tried to creep down the stairs and out the door. When his hand reached the knob he paused at the sound of a throat clearing.

"Please don't tell me you were trying to slip out before I woke up?"

Gale didn't sound angry, but the hurt was evident in the clipped tone of his voice still groggy with sleep. Peeta couldn't bear to turn around. To face him. Then it might be real and right now it wasn't. It was just a lustful fantasy that he could admit to having had on an occasion or two before. But Gale was making it real. He was making Peeta remember everything he felt, not just the intense pleasure, but also the intimacy and the very real, very deep connection that had slowly built between them over the months. A bridge they built brick by delicate brick between their hearts, helping them move on from the losses in their lives, but also irrevocably connecting them.

"I—I don't know what to say," Peeta spoke softly. His head came to rest against the doorframe.

The stair creaked under the weight of Gale's step. Peeta knew he was coming down for him. He didn't think he could face him. Yet his body yearned for him to cross that bridge, to let their hearts meet.

"Don't say anything, just listen."

Gale was right behind him and his skin rippled with gooseflesh.

"I cant, I'm sorry," Peeta apologized before he flung the door open and ran out. He didn't look back. He couldn't. Not as he turned on to the street and not when he passed from Victors Village onto the main street to the town square. He feared if he stopped running his heart might just give out on him. He had to keep it beating; he had to keep it distracted or else. Else what he didn't know.

The air was more humid than normal. The clouds above swirled angry and menacing like the stubborn black smoke that hung in the air for days over the Hob. The town square was already filling up as the crowd gathered for the Reaping. The children ages twelve to eighteen all gathered in lines even though they weren't eligible to be reaped. It was only between Haymitch and Peeta. There was a fifty-percent chance he was going back in and for the Quarter Quell. Up against tested warriors and brutal killers. His mouth dried out and it felt like a walnut had lodged in his throat. He could barely swallow around it.

Peeta saw his father in the back with the other watching parents. He moved as if to come to Peeta. His rounded face creased with lines of worry, obviously noticing Peeta's emotional state. He had to pull it together; soon cameras would be trained on his face. Peeta shook his head no and his father stopped, unsure if he should listen, but then decided he wanted to ignore Peeta's wishes. Luckily his domineering mother appeared beside him and she locked his wrist in a tight grip. She gave Peeta an acidic smile and then turned her head away as if there was something more interesting going on to her right. Anything was probably more interesting to her than her youngest son.

Soon the cameras were rolling and intruding in everyone's personal space. Haymitch and Peeta were situated on the stage, standing to the right. The Mayor gave his standard speech and Peeta couldn't help, but feel a sense of foreboding. His body itched uncomfortably like ants were swarming over his skin. There wasn't much more he could take and thankfully Effie Trinket gave way with her typically inappropriate enthusiasm for something more subdued as she moved towards the bowl in a shimmering lacey grey frock.

It started to drizzle, a cold rain that almost stung against the overheated flesh of Peeta's body. He spotted Gale towards the back of the assembled crowd, but he averted his gaze before their eyes could lock. The look on Gale's face was one of anticipatory dread and Peeta couldn't handle knowing it was planted there because of him. Had he made the wrong decision? Should he have spoken with Gale before the Reaping? What if he never got the chance again and that was how it ended for them?

"Eh-hem," Effie began by clearing her throat noisily. "This year as you know the tributes shall be chosen from the already available pool of Victors. But that presents a unique problem for District Twelve as there are only male victors from which to choose. So as best to fall in line with the spirit of this years Quarter Quell…" Effie paused Peeta was shocked to see a look of discomfort pass over her face, visible even through the thick layer of white make-up caked on her face. Effie never lost her composure. Peeta suddenly grew infinitely more worried. "…It has been decided that a blood relative of last years tribute, Katniss Everdeen, shall be put forth: Primrose Everdeen."

It felt like the stage on which Peeta stood had collapsed beneath him in a gaping hole that had split forth from the ground below to swallow him whole. His stomach was left lurching in the air above him while he plummeted through the darkest depths of the earth. His heartbeat spiked. The crowd could be heard grumbling unhappily—which was unheard of—but Peeta only had eyes for young Prim as she bravely composed her face and moved towards the stage. It was raining hard now and her nice dress wilted like a flower in a summer drought. He could tell she was in shock. It hadn't hit her yet. It could still be a mistake. Peeta wished for a miracle that it were.

Blue eyes sought out equally blue ones and Peeta finally locked sights with Gale. His heartbeat finally calmed and a sense of peace descended over him. It felt just like the last time he was here exactly one year ago. The decision was made in his mind, the rebel in him firmly committed. Now that it was done he knew what to do. Gale seemed to know too. The bridge between their hearts leaving no doubt as to what was to be done. He looked as if he had just been whipped by Romulus again. And now Peeta was about to land the finishing lash that just might kill him. Effie pulled a dampened piece of paper from the large fishbowl and read a name into the microphone.

Time seemed to freeze as hope lingered in Gale's eyes that it might not go the way Peeta wanted. But he knew it was only false hope. There never was a chance for this to end happy for him, he knew that now and Gale knew Peeta couldn't let Prim go in alone.

When Haymitch's name was read Peeta breathed a sigh of relief and Gale's face collapsed in devastation like a mine caving in on itself. The rain trailed down his face and Peeta wasn't sure if he was seeing tears or raindrops. It was the last image Peeta saw before he stepped forward, lungs full of air and shouted, "I volunteer!"


	13. Lost and Found

Part II: The Fire Builds

* * *

Ch. 13- Lost and Found

Immediately they were brought to the train and whisked away to the Capitol before the events that had just transpired had time to settle in anyone's mind. No goodbyes were allowed this time, no moments given to gather one's composure. No they were carted off by a brigade of Peacekeepers and taken straight to the train that began moving as soon as they stepped on. It was reminiscent of the time Peeta and Cato were hurried to the train after the Victory Tour speeches. The atmosphere was dangerously close to combusting and Peeta hoped desperately that there was no violence. District Twelve didn't need any more trouble.

Haymitch was brought with them to be their mentor again, along with Effie Trinket as their handler. It was silent on the train car save for the electric hum of the train hurtling its way towards the Capitol and Primrose's stifled sniffling like that of a sick cat.

Even now, miles from District Twelve, Peeta couldn't get the image of Gale's face from his mind. It remained like the ghost of an image imprinted on the back of his eyelids to be seen every time they closed. He couldn't let Prim go in this with out him. Peeta may have broken his promise to Gale, but he knew Gale couldn't hold that against him. He just wished he hadn't been such a coward, that he had stayed and talked with Gale instead of running to the Reaping. Now he knew he would never get the chance again. There was no way he was making it out of the Quarter Quell alive; he had accepted that as soon as Prim's name was called out. He just had to make sure she made it and then he will have made good on his promise to Katniss.

The television wouldn't work when Peeta tried to turn it on and see how the other Reaping's had gone. To get an idea of the tributes they would be facing (or should he say Victors?) and more specifically to see what happened in Two. Peeta's very blood felt like poison to him. It burned through his veins as it raced to corrupt his heart. Would he ever see Cato again? Maybe it was better that he died with this secret. At least Cato would think he had remained faithful. Anything was better than seeing that look of betrayal on his face again, like when he kept from Cato that they couldn't live in Two together.

Why did it seem like Peeta was sabotaging at every turn the only relationship he'd ever had?

It was around three in the morning when Peeta jolted awake to screaming. A young girls scream that he feared he might start to hear all to often. He sprung from the bed like a rocket and ran towards the cries. They were coming from the other end of the train car.

"No! NOOO!"

Peeta burst through the dividing door to find Prim struggling in the hallway with two Peacekeepers. The white uniformed men restrained her arms from each side as she dug into the floor against them.

"Lemme go! It's a mistake! PLEASE!"

While unsure what had happened Peeta lunged into action and threw a punch at the nearest Peacekeeper. Somehow he managed to land a solid hit against the corner of the man's jaw. He fell back into the wall with a grunt. The other Peacekeeper quickly let go of Prim, hands raised. He didn't want a fight. Peeta still held his fists at the ready, the only weapons available to him.

"We were just trying to restrain her. She tried to jump from the train."

Peeta's eyes flicked between Prim and the Peacekeepers, trying to take in the situation quickly. Prim looked frazzled and her hair was distinctly windswept. He nodded.

"I'll take care of it. Thank you."

The one that spoke nodded and turned to leave back to one of the other train cars. The one he punched followed but stopped at the door and intoned gravely, "You better watch her or we'll be forced to restrain her."

"That won't be necessary."

They left and Peeta took Prim by the hand and guided her back to her room. She was shaking like a leaf. Tears streaked her face and her eyes were wild and untamed, like a cornered animal. He made a strangled noise and suddenly pulled her into a fierce hug. She was stiff and shivering in his arms before slowly giving in, nestling her head against his chest.

"Shush, shush, it's okay Prim. It's going to be okay," He whispered soothingly into her hair, wishing he could believe the same for him.

She pushed away and fell to her bed with a sob.

"But it's not! This is the Hunger Games and I'm going to die just like Katniss!"

She was sobbing into the pillow now, her nails digging into the bedding like knives. Peeta didn't know how to help. He sat at the edge of the bed and laid a hand at the center of her back rubbing small semi-circles back and forth.

"That  _wont_  happen." Peeta growled. There was such conviction in his words that Prim hiccupped and pulled away from the pillow to look at him. "I promise you Prim, I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you make it through this. I've done this before and I'll do it again for you. You're just going to have to trust me. But I need to be able to trust you too. So can I?"

She looked at him confused.

"Why did you try to jump from the train?" Peeta tried to be calm, but the mere thought of her trying to do such a thing—leaving him like that—hit a nerve that made him want to lash out.

Primrose bit her lip and bowed her head in shame. "I just wanted to run. I thought maybe if I could get off the train they couldn't find me and I wouldn't have to do it."

"Oh Prim," Peeta threw his arm around her shoulders and pulled her back in for another hug. He held her like that for a while before she asked if he would stay with her. Of course he would.

They repositioned on the bed so that she was curled up in his arms. Over the past summer Peeta had come to see her as a strong and determined young woman, but here he was reminded again just how young she really was. This was obviously a cruel form of punishment by Snow against Peeta. He knew if Prim was forced into the Quarter Quell that no matter how the drawing went for the male tribute of Twelve Peeta would make sure he went back into the games too.

"Sing me a song?" Prim slurred sleepily into his arm.

"Like what?"

She thought a moment and the silence dragged on to the point that he thought she might have fallen asleep when she finally spoke.

"Deep in the Meadow… Katniss used to sing it to me."

Peeta felt a hallow pang in the center of his chest. He knew the song though. He had heard Katniss sing it herself once at school. And so he took a deep breath and then began the soothing lullaby.

" _Deep in the meadow, under the willow_

_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow_

_Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes_

_And when you awake, the sun will rise…"_

The next morning they were woken by Effie and then escorted to the remake center. Peeta could see the fear of being separated reflected back at him in Prim's eyes and he tried to smile, hoping she knew it would be all right. For now at least.

And then there was Portia waiting to greet Peeta in the holding room after his remake team finished with him (the hickey was quickly dispensed of thankfully and his Pacemaker given a full check up again—all was thankfully good). Their hug lasted only a few seconds, but in that span of time Peeta felt his heart rate calm and his mind put at ease. She always had that effect on him. The calming presence of a maternal figure, she effused love and warmth in her quick embrace. He wished he knew what it was like to have someone care for him like that all his life and not in such a terrible and forced situation.

"So, I've modified a few things I had in the pipeline to work as your costume for the opening ceremony. It'll be similar to your experience with the tuxedo you wore for the interview, but on a  _much_  grander scale." Portia laced her fingers together with a glinting smile. He should have felt nervous, but after all this time Peeta had come to trust her implicitly.

"I hope you don't mind that I used some of the items we tried on for your wedding."

It was like being plunged into a tub of ice at the mention of his wedding. Peeta must have made some type of face because Portia tried to assuage his fears by promising to have just as a great a wedding outfit for him when the time came, but she thought this might be an important moment to make a statement. What ever that meant.

Having been through all this before Peeta thought he might be numb to it all, but it was just as surreal an experience as the first. The sheer volume of people screaming and craning their necks to get a peek at him overwhelmed every nerve. All his confidence was immediately lost as Portia brought him to the loading bay where the chariot ride began. There he finally got the chance to see the other Tributes he would be up against. Or he might as well call them what they are—Victors. Proven killers. The best, the most brutal and most cunning that managed to survive the bloodbath and harsh arenas until the very end. Peeta spotted a very attractive pair from One. A golden skinned man with short cropped blonde locks and an equally stunning young woman with the same blonde hair that fell in perfect coils laced with gold down to her mid back. Peeta knew of them, they were brother and sister, Cashmere and Gloss. Both won the games in consecutive years. They were beautiful and deadly. The chariots were lined in descending order, which meant Two was positioned just behind them. Peeta's heart clenched like the tensing of a fist. Who would be the male tribute? There was a terrifyingly familiar visage of a woman with gold-capped teeth filed to a razor's edge. And right next to Enobaria stood the punch to the gut Peeta had been hoping and pleading wouldn't be there.

It was Cato.

A fresh wave of guilt slammed into Peeta like a charging stag, it's antlers boring into the soft flesh of his abdomen, tearing to shreds his stomach and radiating a very real pain throughout his body. Cato was here too. He hadn't escaped. This really was retribution for their actions. And on top of it all he had betrayed the man he claimed to love more than anything. He was led past Cato to his waiting chariot and that's when those loving chocolate brown eyes landed on his. They were surprised and unsurprised, terrified yet defiant, and also oddly worn out. Peeta quickly took in his limp posture and that his clothes fit oddly. Of course that was when he decided to conjure up Gale's face in his mind's eye and he was forced to look away in shame.

Peeta was quickly led to his golden chariot where he reunited with Primrose and Cato's face was lost down the long line of chariots. Cinna was with Prim and she clung to him nervously until she saw Peeta. She made a beeline straight for his side. Her hair was done up in the same style as Katniss's for the opening ceremony last year and a fresh bout of grief washed over him, mingling with the guilt and burdening him with a weight he wasn't sure he could carry. It was all too much.

Then suddenly the ceremony was beginning and the first chariot was out the gate. Peeta's eye briefly caught the chariot for Four before it exited the bay doors. There was a perfectly chiseled male specimen holding a glinting gold trident and his ass was clearly visible through the loose covering of ropes around his groin. Peeta was thankful Portia wasn't that liberal with his costume.

Portia quickly threw the cape over Peeta's back and he fastened it to his collar as she took a torch to the edges. Prim gasped at the effect, which was lost on him as he couldn't look over his back. They were both dressed in charcoal black formal wear. The material of the suit was heavy against Peeta's body while the cape was as light as a feather and he barely registered it hanging off his back.

Then they jolted forward as the horses began to trot out the gates. Prim's hand clung to Peeta's and he squeezed it, winking at her out of the corner of his eye. She smiled and then lifted her head up in defiance. There was no weakness to be seen in her eyes. No fear. Just determination. And then the crowd went wild as they were finally visible. The roar was a deafening concussion that buffeted their bodies as the horses sped them down the cobblestone street.

Peeta finally saw in the monitors lining the streets just how stunning he looked. The cape fluttered in the breeze behind him and was slowly being devoured by the bright red flames that crept up the cape. Soon the fire would engulf the entirety of his black cape. Once it reached his collar he felt a light tingling sensation as the cool flames licked at his skin. Then the audience gasped in unison as the flames suddenly burst outward, devouring his body. Peeta's suit suddenly transformed to a burnt white with trails of flame leaping from every limb. A giant trail of flames was left in their wake, swirling and amassing from the fluttering cape, building in a giant fireball from which burst the giant image of a flying Mockingjay behind them. There was a second of silence as the brilliance of it stunned the audience lining the streets before they flew into frenzy, screaming and crying as they tossed anything available to them into the street. Flowers and jewels, gold watches and wigs, whatever they had available rained down upon them as they passed.

By the time they reached the city circle all eyes, even the other Tributes, where on him.

"I think that was an even bigger entrance than last year if possible," Prim muttered into her shoulder towards Peeta.

He wanted to cringe, but remained defiant in the face of all the cold and calculating eyes watching him. The icy blue ones that belonged to President Snow where the most fierce. He looked down upon Peeta from his perch on the balcony, ready to give his annual opening remarks with such foul hatred in his eyes that Peeta worried if he weren't already on fire he might just combust.

Once it was all over Peeta was practically a nervous wreck. It was an excruciating practice in patience as he waited for all the celebratory opening remarks to finish so he would finally be free to see Cato. And at the same time he was terrified of the possibility. It had been almost six months since they'd seen each other and then Cato just disappeared on him. And now Peeta was a cheater.

So once he was free to go and see him he found himself floundering. Prim hopped down from the carriage next to him with a wide-eyed look and windswept hair from the ride.

"Peeta, I—I saw Cato…" She trailed off at the pained look that flitted across Peeta's face.

"I know. I'm going over."

Cinna came with Portia to collect them, but he brushed past them towards the forward line of carriages where he knew Cato to be. He had to talk to him. He had to find out what happened between them and he had to tell the truth. It was the right thing to do. He might not know what he wanted with Gale (and honestly that wasn't even a factor anymore now that he was back in the Games with no chance of survival) but Cato deserved the truth from him. He deserved the chance to make that choice of whether he still wanted Peeta or not.

It felt like the longest walk of his life down that row of chariots. Each step like pulling his feet from the suctioned grasp of a deep field of mud. But when he finally got to Cato's chariot he wasn't there, which meant he was most likely looking for Peeta too. He scoured the large loading bay for Cato's large frame, but there were so many people, mostly Capitol attendants trying to corral everyone. As he passed by the elevators he felt the familiar sensation of being watched. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and his brain buzzed in warning. He turned to look for the source when a woman dressed in bark and leafy branches swooped in front of him and pushed him inside the elevator. Just as it closed his eyes connected with a terrifyingly familiar pair of beetle-like eyes. Then they were severed from view as the gold-mirrored doors slid shut.

"Um, what the hell?" Peeta barked as the woman began to undress before him. He quickly averted his eyes towards the ceiling.

"What, scared of a little human anatomy?" The woman taunted in a playful voice. There was just the hint of steel around the edges. She moved in close and Peeta sucked in his chest, trying not to come in contact with her bare breasts. He had never seen a naked woman before and found he was more than uncomfortable.

"No, just not interested in a woman's."

A big smile spread across the woman's face as she ran a hand through her spiky brown hair.

"Mhh, yes I did hear something about that. Betrothed to another male tribute, Cato. Quite the catch. Such a shame. Anyways I thought I'd save you from the daggers being thrown your way by Asasia before one of them actually struck." She turned her back to him and bent over to fetch her costume from the floor giving Peeta an uninterrupted view of her round ass. She was tan all over and Peeta had the distinct image of her tanning nude on her front lawn, mindless to the scandalized stares of her neighbors.

She turned back around and held out a hand, which he took. Her grip was tight and fierce. "Name's Johanna."

"I'm—"

"Please, I know.  _Peeta_." She waved him off apathetically. "Everyone knows."

Her bluntness somehow made the awkward situation even worse. He should have known who she was. He saw the games she won. She played meek and helpless until the very end when she suddenly turned to a ruthless assassin with the flip of a switch.

Finally they reached the seventh floor and the nude Johanna Mason disembarked the elevator, but not before turning around and giving one final devious wave to Peeta, her bare body fully exposed to him. He felt the flush of his cheeks as the elevator doors finally closed and then quickly carried him to the twelfth floor.

Peeta was the first one back, because of Johanna's intervention. He wondered who this Asasia was and wished for once that he had actually had access to cable on the train so he at least could have been informed on who all was reaped this year. It was a little terrifying not knowing what experienced Victors where his competition this year, especially with Prim's life in his hands. Thank god he spent the summer training with Gale.

Dinner was a somber affair and Prim barely ate her fill. He could tell she was just as disturbed as he was the first time by the overwhelming amount of wealth and luxury flaunted by the Capitol. But for Peeta he could barely fill his stomach because he was sick with guilt. Cato was just ten floors below him none the wiser that the man he asked to marry betrayed his love. He needed to see him. To get answers. To explain and maybe release some of the pain he was storing before it turned to a putrid acid that would eat away at the rest of his insides.

After dinner Peeta helped Prim fall asleep by singing to her again. He knew the exact moment she drifted off as the delicate hand that held his fell from his grip against the sheets, her muscles lax with fatigue. Peeta got up and quietly made his way to the elevator. His whole being bristled anticipation of finally seeing Cato.

The elevator doors parted with a static hum. Peeta stepped in and pressed for level two, but nothing happened. The doors remained open to the penthouse and the button remained unlit. He pressed it again. Still nothing. What the hell? Soon Peeta found his thumb jabbing the number repeatedly with growing aggression until—

"FUCK!" Peeta shouted and kicked the paneling of the elevator.

Of course it wouldn't work for him. It never did for Twelve.

Peeta took a deep and calming breath before he reached forward and pressed the button one above his. The roof access button lit up and the elevator lurched back to life. A sigh of relief escaped Peeta. He hoped Cato would be waiting for him in the secret garden where they found each other. Except then Peeta remembered the weight on his ring finger and what that meant.

"Please be up here," Peeta whispered as he entered the roof. City sounds burst to life all around him now that he was outside and it was disconcerting after having grown accustomed yet again to the slow and quiet life of district Twelve.

The roof itself was quiet and undisturbed. Peeta worked his way around the center dome toward the garden preparing himself to find it Cato-less. The tree's came into view first and he quickly noticed that they all lacked the white flower blossoms that were genetically engineered to bloom each day. Odd. Then his eyes fell to the lone bench and his heart skipped a beat at the blonde haired man sitting upon it.

Anxiously Peeta rushed forward with Cato's name on his lips. But it died before he had a chance to speak it as the man turned towards him and Peeta took full stock of the person seated on the bench. It was the man he had seen earlier at the opening ceremony with the trident and bared ass.

"Not who you were expecting? Hoping for Cato?" The man asked, his finely shaped eyebrow quirking up in question. It was deviously sexual and that's when he remembered it. Finnick was his name! He was extremely charming and handsome and one of the most popular contestants in recent memory. But he was also from Four. Peeta backed away cautiously, unsure of his intentions. Finnick's grin grew wider before he stood, popping a sugar cube in his mouth. His body was unreal, perfectly golden tan and built as if carved from marble by an artist with an exquisite eye.

"Sugar cube?"

He seemed innocent enough at the moment, if not overtly sexual. Peeta shook his head, declining the offer. He couldn't be sure it wasn't poisoned.

"Suit yourself." He withdrew the handful of sugar cubes and took a seat again on the bench, leaving room for Peeta.

"So do you talk, boy on fire? Or is that part of the whole mystique?" Finnick teased. His eyes were an enrapturing sea green. They demanded your attention and Peeta thought if he wasn't careful he just might give to him whatever he wanted for a chance to stare into those eyes. Peeta shook his mind clear. He couldn't get a grasp on this guy.

"I talk. To those I know."

"Well have a seat and get to know me. I don't bite, unless asked." Finnick bared all his white teeth in a blinding smile at that and Peeta rolled his eyes before deciding to take a seat. He had come up here hoping to find Cato, but he wasn't ready to head back into that prison below. He'd spent more than enough time in that penthouse.

"That's better, no need to be so stiff around me."

The way he said the word stiff made Peeta think of other things. His eyes strayed down Finnick's sculpted chest for a brief look at his package, loosely contained behind the tangled knots of rope and netting. Then he felt his neck heat uncomfortably as he knew he'd been caught. He refused to look back at Finnick's face so instead he looked outwards towards the trees and city lights. Finnick did that on purpose. Peeta could tell he used his sexuality as a weapon and now all those rumors about him didn't seem so fantastical anymore.

"It's okay to look, you know. It's not cheating." Finnick offered with a shrug, leaning back to allow for a better view of his fully exposed body.

Peeta's muscles clenched at the poor choice in wording and Finnick's bare shoulder brushed against his.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve? I can be pretty good at that, in more ways than one."

"You didn't hit anything. A swing and a miss I'd say." Peeta bit back, his anger slowly building to a boil in the pit of his stomach. This man knew nothing.

"Then tell me," Finnick spoke delicately. His voice was very soft and alluring, like honey. He was whispering into Peeta's left ear now and Peeta's right hand gripped the edge of the bench, his nails digging in the wood. "What are your secrets, boy on fire?"

Suddenly Peeta pushed off the bench and whipped around to face Finnick, his fingers were quaking with rage. How dare this man try to play him like that.

"My secrets aren't for sale,  _unlike you_." Peeta spat angrily.

Then he turned and stormed back towards the elevator. Once inside the domed room he quickly hit the button to call the elevator, but it didn't come soon enough. The door opened behind him and Finnick sidled up beside him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to antagonize you so much. I do feel bad, so how about a piece of advice. It's free, I promise."

Peeta looked at him from the corner of his eye, but remained silent. He was in no mood for more games. This was probably one of the worst days of his life as he slowly collapsed in silent agony from everything that had gone wrong in the past twenty-four hours.

"Tread lightly around my district partner. She has it out for you. I don't think she cares for the rules much, especially the one where you save it until the Arena."

Finnick watched Peeta for another few seconds. His ocean green eyes mapped the layout of Peeta's face with an intensity he couldn't quite decipher. Then he receded back out onto the roof leaving Peeta further flustered. Who was this chick and why did she have it out for him? He thought about that and more on the quick ride back to his penthouse. Like if Cato and he would ever have a moment together again before the games started and it was all too late. Could he actually protect Prim in the arena with such a huge target on his back? And what would become of Gale if he lost another—person (it was the best word he could think of)—to the Hunger Games?

Back in his room he closed the door and flicked the lights on only to find it go black again as a hand clasped over his eyes.

"WHAT THE—" Peeta shouted, about to throw back an elbow into his attackers stomach when the man whispered in his ear.

"Shh, babe, it's me."

The hand fell from Peeta's eyes and he swung around to face the man the voice belonged to, Cato. He looked upon Cato with disbelief. He was shell-shocked. His bedroom was the last place he expected to find Cato, but it shouldn't have surprised him.

"Sorry if I scared you, I just wanted to surprise you…" Cato said. His eyes shifted about the room and his face grew more anxious, like he was worried maybe he had made the wrong decision.

Peeta just stared at him. Drinking him in from head-to-toe. He didn't know what to think. It had been almost half a year since they'd seen each other in person last and now here he was and all Peeta wanted to do was scream at him.  _Why'd you abandon me? Why'd you stop calling? WHERE WERE YOU?_

"Peeta? Please say something."

It was the tone of his voice that finally got through to Peeta. It was weak and scared and wholly unlike Cato. That's when he noticed what he had only gleaned at from a distance. Cato was skinnier, he still had muscles, but they were not as bulky as before and his eyes—his deep chocolate eyes were murky and worn down.

"I'm sorry, I was just overwhelmed. I—it's been months and I tried to get to you so many times today I think I had just given up on seeing you and then here you are!"

A tentative smile crept across Cato's face before he brought his hands up to cup Peeta's face. He just stared into Peeta's eyes, swimming in their depths and stroking his fingers over every smooth inch of skin his fingers could reach before he slowly leaned down for a kiss. Their lips had barely connected before Peeta jolted backwards as if shocked.

_Fuck._  He hadn't meant to do that. His body yearned for Cato's touch; even after his betrayal, even though he still wanted Gale. But his mind told him it wouldn't be right. He had to tell him. He was about to speak when Cato beat him to it.

"I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tried that. You must be so angry with me." Cato's head bowed in shame.

It wasn't what he expected him to say at all and for a minute he lost track of his own thoughts as he tried to grasp what Cato could be talking about.

He moved to the bed and beckoned for Peeta to join him.

"I'll explain everything, just lie here with me?"

The desperate look on Cato's normally so confidant and strong face broke Peeta. What happened to his Cato potato? He got on the bed next to Cato and soon found their position readjusted so they were lying on their sides facing each other. Then Cato spoke.

"It's all my fault. I shouldn't have blamed you for hiding the truth from me. You were only trying to salvage the last of our time together and I pushed you away." Cato's hand reached out and found Peeta's. It was cold and dry like sandpaper. He traced each finger in his own before continuing. "After the tour the district turned on me. Some stopped taking my business while others vandalized my home. In the end, about a month before the Reaping Dreg rallied his supporters against you and I in the town square. They attacked me and took me captive."

Peeta gasped at this. How could the Capitol let something like this happen? Aren't the Victor's supposed to be protected? Cato's hand was now still in his and Peeta took in his face, recognizing a desperation there he had once seen reflected in himself, before he volunteered the first time.

"Oh god, Cato, I—I don't know what to say. How could this happen?"

He cleared his throat before continuing, rolling onto his back to face the ceiling. Peeta didn't want him to turn away, but with this new knowledge he had no idea how to handle the Cato before him.

"Dreg led the whole thing. As the Mayor's son he can get away with a lot and I'm sure the Capitol didn't care. This whole Quarter Quell is in response to what we did in the last games so I'm sure they would have supported it. They isolated and starved me for weeks until the Reaping where I was forced to volunteer. I would have anyways. Anything to never have to go back to that basement." Cato shivered and Peeta scooted closer, laying a tentative hand on his chest. When Cato didn't react adversely he pressed up against Cato's side and held him lightly.

"I thought I was going to die there. I wanted to. But then I would think of you. It was the only thing I could think of, how I would never get to tell you how much you meant to me. How I didn't blame you for anything. That I love you with all my heart. I hated myself for having left it on such a bad note with you. But then I made a promise to myself. That I would make it out of this, for you."

Suddenly Cato turned back on his side so he was facing Peeta again and his face was ablaze with a ferocity that Peeta hadn't seen since the last Hunger Games when Cato was fighting Stasson for their lives.

"You kept me sane. You were the only thing that kept me going, Peeta.  _The only thing._ " He repeated himself powerfully. The bed shook with the force of his words.

Then he reached for Peeta's hand and pulled it up to his mouth. He laid a delicate kiss atop the ring on Peeta's finger before holding it tightly between them and pulling Peeta in for a searing kiss. All the pain, all the anguish and misery they had both suffered over the course of their exile from each other was relinquished in that kiss in a burst of heat so strong that it felt like Peeta's lips might have been burned.

It was in that moment that he knew he could never tell Cato of what he had done. Peeta was the only thing that kept him going. If he found out it might just kill him—if the Quarter Quell didn't do so first


	14. Training

Ch. 14- Training

The morning came all to soon and Peeta found himself alone yet again. Unfortunately that was never the case for long when in the Capitol.

"Big, big, big day ahead!" Effie effused with wildly inappropriate energy for so early in the morning.

Her jewelry-clad knuckles rapped loudly against his bedroom door. Peeta wanted nothing more than to pull the covers over his head and continue sleeping until this had all passed. Or maybe he could just wake up and realize it was all just a terrible, horrible dream. Yeah, that'd be best.

Instead the day was forced upon him like the forcing of medicine down a reluctant child's throat. No matter how much he wanted to kick and scream and put up a fight, he was just no match. So it was best he played along. For now.

"I want you to create alliances this time." Haymitch stated as they waited by the elevator for the ride down to the training center in the basement.

"Alliances?" Prim asked, confused. "Don't only the Careers make alliances?"

"Typically they ally together, yes, but this is no ordinary Hunger Game. You two are going to need all the help you can get," Haymitch held Peeta's eyes for a particularly long moment, making sure it stuck. "You wont be able to go it alone this time. Not with experienced killers."

"But we have Cato." Peeta disputed as they got on the elevator.

"And the other tributes will have alliances with the likes of Enobaria or Gloss. You need better odds."

"But we don't know if we can trust anyone!" Peeta protested.

"Isn't that how it always is?"

Haymitch left it on those words as the elevator doors opened and it was time for training to begin. Prim hung close to Peeta's side as they entered the giant training complex. It looked the same as he remembered with the various stations scattered through out the oval shaped gymnasium. Except for the balcony where all the Gamemakers lounged. Peeta spotted the plump figure of Plutarch Heavensbee seated in a plush gold armchair in the center. Those familiar pale eyes with a roguish twinkle were suddenly aimed at him and he tipped his glass forward with a wink before turning back to one of his associates. Peeta was still unsure how he felt about that man. He seemed far less harmless than Seneca Crane and much more interested in the status that came with being Head Gamemaker. But none of that was what caught his eye; no it was the slight shimmer to the air right in front of the Gamemakers balcony. It was easy enough to miss unless you were paying attention to the way the light distorted like it was being observed through a thin veil of water. That was definitely not there last year.

The beginning instructions by Atala were the same as last time and no one was listening to the instructor. They'd all been through it before too. He saw Gloss and Cashmere were already helping each other stretch while Enobaria tore apart a piece of jerky with her razor-like teeth. Asasia sat silently to the side in a statue-like pose. It was as if she were frozen in time, saving her energy and talents, waiting for the moment when she could unleash it all in a terrible fury. Cato joined Peeta's side and his pinky finger just barely grazed up along the inside of Peeta's hand. Peeta felt his heart clench and he quickly lost focus on why he was here. But now they were free to choose their stations and break apart. Peeta didn't want to lose the contact, but maybe he already had.

"You going to train with the spear again? I could help you if it's been a while." Cato offered as they moved towards the weapons section.

"Uh, actually I was going to try my hand at the bow and arrow…"

"You know how to use that now?" Cato asked confused.

"Well yeah, Gale kind of taught me how to use one." Peeta scratched at the back of his head awkwardly. It was just another reality check of how much had changed since the last time they saw each other. Another reminder of the marks Gale left on Peeta. "I thought maybe I should practice with the one they have. Get used to its weight…"

Cato closed his mouth and seemed to glower at that. Prim, on the other side of him, suddenly made her presence known.

"What should I try first?" She looked directly at Peeta and he knew she was helping change the subject. He was yet again grateful for her perceptiveness.

"I could show you how to throw daggers. It would be a good skill. You can protect yourself and keep your distance in a fight." Cato offered, coming back out of his shell at the opportunity to be useful to someone again. He put his hand on her shoulder and led her over to the weapons rack.

Peeta watched them for a little bit. Cato really took his time to teach her the proper throwing technique, getting down to her level and helping her through each step. There was something to his actions, an anxiousness that Peeta wondered if maybe Cato was just as worried for Prim as Peeta was. Was he seeing his sister Cassadine in Prim? When was the last time he saw his precious sister?

Peeta loosened an arrow from the bow at the target, hitting just inside the second ring. He felt marginally better, but still disturbed by his thoughts. Had their positions somehow changed? Was Peeta now the one with everything to lose and Cato the one who had nothing? Peeta tore another arrow from the sheath behind his back and notched it on the bow before aiming and firing in the same span of time it would have taken someone to unsheathe their sword. Peeta did this a few more times. Each arrow landing a little closer to the bull's eye. Each one the unleashing of a pent up emotion.

Once he was out of arrows Peeta came out of the singularly focused tunnel vision he had for his target. People were staring. Prim was still tossing her daggers at the dummy target, but Cato was only watching Peeta. It was a look like he couldn't quite tell who this man was anymore. But then he cleared his eyes of the troubling thoughts and turned back to assist Prim.

After a calming breath Peeta went to pull his arrows from the target when two people flanked him from either side. The woman to his left, maybe an inch taller, was smiling at him all teeth and big, soft lips. Cashmere's blonde waves framed her face making her look deceptively innocent like a baby doll, but her grayish-blue eyes held a wicked flare. Gloss to his right was maybe a head taller and all carefully crafted muscle. He had a smirk on his face and wide-set eyes that Peeta feared could track you anywhere.

Peeta came to a halt before the target and began tugging free the arrows. He wasn't going to invite a conversation. Cashmere shrugged from the corner of his eyes and then Gloss cleared his throat. It was a deep rumble followed by an equally deep voice.

"That was a pretty impressive display."

"You've been training?" Cashmere purred from his left.

"What's it to you?" Peeta asked while tugging hard. One arrow just wouldn't come loose. It was embedded too deep. He just wanted to leave already.

"Well you never used the bow last year, but we can tell you definitely have skill." Cashmere said like she was actually impressed.

"Which means," Gloss picked up for her. "Either you kept the talent hidden or you didn't learn how to use one until after your Game."

"Congrats, you're a real genius." Peeta pulled violently and the arrow finally dislodged, pulling a chuck of straw out with it.

"Now don't be sassy," Cashmere chastised. "We just wanted to introduce ourselves. I'm Cashmere and this fine specimen of a man is my brother Gloss."

Gloss bared all his white teeth in a sultry grin and Peeta frowned. What was their endgame?

"Okay, and I'm Peeta. Now that we've got that out of the way can I go back to practicing?"

"We don't want to hinder your development, only help it reach new heights." Gloss said as he took the arrows from Peeta's hand. His large fingers swept over the tops of Peeta's very much on purpose before he leaned forward and put them in the sheath on Peeta's back. Peeta had to turn his head to the side to avoid bumping Gloss' protruding pectorals.

"With us you could become a true force to be reckoned with in the Arena." Cashmere supplied right next to him.

Peeta felt trapped. He understood their game now. They wanted an alliance and were using his sexuality to lure him in. If there ever was a chance of him aligning with them—which there wasn't, they're District One Careers for heaven's sake—it was over now. Luckily before he did something rash and made new enemies Johanna came up from behind him and slapped a hand against Gloss's ass. The resounding smack made Peeta flinch. It had to of hurt, but Gloss showed no signs of feeling it. He just turned to face Johanna with disdain clearly written all over his face.

"How's it going, Glossy-bear? Cash?" Johanna taunted in her playfully light voice, inclining her head towards each in greeting.

"Fine until you got here," Cashmere snapped.

"Oh did I interrupt something?" She smiled delightedly between the three of them. She was standing very close to Peeta and clearly pushing back against the two Careers, building a safe space between them. "I didn't realize you swung that way Gloss, but it doesn't surprise with the amount of attention you give to your body or it might just be unbearable vanity."

Gloss's equally grayish-blue eyes hardened to a blackish smoke and a growl escaped from his throat. Cashmere put a hand against his chest and pushed him back with a warning, "Gloss."

"That's right, listen to your sister. Let's not do anything stupid now. Well that might be too late, but lets not do any more stupid things how bout?"

On that note Johanna swiveled on the heel of her sneaker, making a loud and grating squeak against the floor, while grabbing Peeta's upper arm and pulling him along with her. Gloss and Cashmere could be heard whispering heatedly to each other until they were out of earshot.

"Why'd you help me?" Peeta asked, very confused.

"Isn't it obvious? To stop your lumberjack boyfriend from doing something stupid." She motioned with her shoulder behind her.

That's when Peeta noticed Cato had completely forgotten his training session with Prim. His knuckles were bone white from their grip on his sword and he was staring straight at Gloss with such fury in his eyes Peeta worried he might spontaneously combust.

"Well, um, thanks. I guess."

"Oh wow, don't lay it on me all at once now." Johanna bit at him sarcastically before moving off to another training station.

His first interaction with Johanna yesterday may have been a wild one, but she didn't seem as outlandishly crazy as first thought. He was starting to like her bluntness and intensity. He could tell it was both a shield and a weapon and it reminded Peeta a little of Katniss. If Katniss weren't afraid to flaunt her body and sexuality.

"You okay?"

Peeta had gone over to check on Cato, hoping maybe he could assuage his raw nerves and also to keep from being alone for too long. He really didn't want to know who'd try to make a play for the famous boy on fire next. It was pretty stupid of Cashmere and Gloss to think they could just throw Gloss's body at him and he'd join right up with them.

"Fine." Cato replied curtly before turning back to Prim. "She's a quick study and actually got great aim."

"It must run in the family." Peeta replied, which put a grin on Prim's face as she flung another knife. This one landed between the shoulder and neck on the target dummy. Peeta felt a sympathetic twinge in his shoulder for the dummy and a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could get Primrose through the Quarter Quell.

"So what was that about over there with the Career siblings?" Cato tried to sound uninterested, but his words were too stiff to be natural.

"They wanted to ally ourselves. But I have no interest in working with creeps like them."

Peeta reached out a hand and laid it atop Cato's—the one that was holding his sword in a death grip. It finally loosened and Peeta felt him lift his knuckle to rub against Peeta's palm. He looked down at Peeta with such pain trapped in the depths of his smooth brown eyes that Peeta would have given anything to take that pain away. He was haunted by his experience over the past month and Peeta didn't know how to help. So much had changed. If they weren't the same people anymore would they still be able to help each other?

They leaned in to each other, guided by their beating hearts. Cato angled his head down and Peeta pushed up on his feet mere centimeters from the start of a kiss. If only they could get their lips to touch then maybe it all wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it all wouldn't be so overwhelming and the haunting loneliness in Cato's eyes might just be chased from view. But instead Atala appeared at their side with a stern look.

"Did you not here the bell? It's time for lunch."

She then moved on from them and Peeta noticed that most of the tributes were filing out of the gym to the cafeteria.

In the cafeteria Peeta stocked up on some of his favorite foods that he hadn't had since the last time he was here. If there was one thing he would allow himself to enjoy it was the food. When else could he have as many helping as he wanted of roasted chicken and stewed lamb and marinated flank steak?

Most of the tables had someone seated at them by the time Peeta and Cato had loaded up their trays, so they chose the one with the least intimidating looking tributes at them. It was a long table with bench seats and a middle-aged balding black man sat across from wiry gray-haired lady. They seemed in the middle of a discussion, but once they were within earshot Peeta found that he couldn't understand anything the woman was saying.

Primrose bravely plopped down next to the woman who looked a little startled to find the young girl next to her. It might have been years since she interacted with someone so young. Prim offered her some of her strawberries and Peeta watched as her tarnished grey eyes melted at the display of affection. She bowed her head and plucked a small fruit before plopping it in her mouth and humming.

"Please, sit," The man gestured at the table. Cato and Peeta quickly followed Prim's example and sat down. Cato quickly dove into his food.

"I'm Beetee and this is my friend Wiress." The woman raised her head from her plate and grinned a mouthful of yellowing teeth.

"Peeter smash, Peeter smash!" Wiress repeated adamantly.

"Yes, Peeta's joined our table." Beetee turned to face Peeta with deep grooves in his forehead, probably from years of deep contemplation and hardship. "You'll have to forgive her, but the years have not been kind to her mind. A side effect of the games sometimes."

"That's so sad," Prim whispered softly.

Peeta reached across the table and squeezed her hand. Then Cato's knee moved and came to rest against Peeta's under the table and he too felt himself relax. Everyone fell back to their food in silence, except for Wiress who continued chanting 'Peeter smash' while jabbing at her potatoes with a fork. Beetee seemed like a nice enough man, but still it wasn't enough to know if he could trust the Tribute from Three in the Arena. He figured it was a safe bet that Wiress wouldn't be a hindrance or help as an ally, especially after a fleck of potato landed on his cheek from her overzealous attack on her lunch.

After another ten minutes it was time to go back in for training the rest of the day. They stood and emptied their trays in the trash before filing out of the cafeteria. Cato was leading Prim out the double doors with Peeta bringing up the rear. He liked the new formation; it felt like they were already working implicitly together to protect Prim. Just as a smile was beginning to form on his face—stretching the long dormant muscles after what felt like years of disuse—he was suddenly yanked backwards by the collar of his shirt.

Slamming backwards, Peeta's head connected with the concrete wall and a shower of stars burst before his eyes, blinding him to his attacker. An arm was thrust up under his chin and pressed tightly against his throat with just the threat of constricting his airway. Its presence was to be known, that it could indeed strangle the life out of him if it wanted. The white-hot stars faded from view and in its place appeared the image of a ferocious looking woman. Asasia. She had shoulders as broad as Cato and thick ropey muscles that bulged in exertion up the length of her leathery arms. Her hair was jet black and yet again blocked out the view of her right eye. The left one sneered at him from the socket, obsidian and beetle-like, almost an exact replica of a pair of beetle-like eyes that used to haunt him in his sleep.

Stasson.

"Hello Peeta," The woman growled, revealing just the tips of her canines.

Peeta tensed his body then relaxed, using the inch of space granted by the loosening of his muscles to try and slide from Asasia's grip. His feet danced to the side and his right arm came up to bat away her arm, but she was faster. His right arm was caught in a vice like grip. He cried out as a burning pain flared up in his wrist and she twisted. He was flung around until his face smashed against the wall. His arm still held captive behind his back.

"Wh-what do you want?" Peeta panted through the pain. His eyes were watering and he wished he didn't sound so weak.

"Exactly this."

"I—mrph" He was cut off as she pressed his face harder into the wall.

"I want you in pain," Asasia spoke with a broiling fury that it might have singed the tips of hair on the back of his head. "I want you writhing in excruciating pain on the ground in front of me, begging like the dog you are for your life. I want to watch the light fade from those pretty little blue eyes of yours. I want to watch the fire snuffed out of you. You think you burn bright like a beacon of hope, but you're just a matchstick easy enough to snuff out with a fat lougie."

"You're his relative." Peeta managed to grit out against the wall. "Sister? Mother?"

"Favorite Aunt, but close enough." Asasia whispered in his ear. Her breath was hot and smelled of egg. "I spoiled him. I trained him. He worshipped me. I honed his skills and taught him to kill—"

"Obviously not well enough!"

The woman barked a cold laugh and then jolted his head forward again into the wall. A fresh shower of stars burst before his eyes and a throbbing headache formed in the front of his skull to join the one already in place at the back of his head.

"Y-you can't… hurt me here!" Peeta gasped out. His nerves were on fire. He couldn't see what she was doing behind him. For all he knew she had a giant knife and was seconds away from bringing it home between his ribcage.

"I'll hurt you any day of the goddamned week I want." Asasia raged. Peeta could practically feel her pulse rising along with the temperature of her body. Everything was solely fixed on him. He was the one point in the universe now on which she guided her life. Cold fear seeped into his bones, but he refused to let it show. He grit his teeth and held back all emotion.

"I'll kill you here, right in front of the Gamemakers or I'll do it while you sleep in bed tonight. There are four nights left before the game's begin and I could end your life at any time—"

Suddenly the pressure was gone and Peeta was free. He slid down the wall before he remembered to use his legs and hold himself up. There was a surprised grunt behind him followed by the sound of another body slamming into the wall. When Peeta turned around he was shocked to find Finnick had Asasia pinned against the opposite wall with a butter knife to her throat.

"Not here you wont. Not with me watching." Finnick warned Asasia. Peeta was shocked to witness the fearsome warrior that resided beneath all the teasing sexuality Finnick presented. "I don't care if you're my district partner, I'll gut you like the stinking fish you are. Stasson was a terrible monster and you made him that way. What did you expect to become of him?"

His words must have hit a raw note in her body because she abruptly started thrashing against Finnick until he finally jumped away from her. She stood before them hunched and breathing rabidly. A vein pulsed above her only visible eye and she pointed a quaking finger at the both of them.

"This is only over when I say so."

Then she stormed between them, bashing her shoulders against the both of them before disappearing into the gymnasium.

"You okay?"

Peeta turned to look at Finnick and couldn't help but give him a once over. Maybe he misjudged the guy? Or was he still trying to trick Peeta? Everyone's motivations were so fucking hard to elucidate it was driving him mad.

"I'm good. Thanks for your help." Peeta replied curtly then he too entered the gym, not waiting for Finnick. He was tired of this day already.

Looking around Peeta saw that Primrose had planted herself at the camouflage station and was currently giggling at the antics of the morphling addicts from Six. She seemed quite taken by them and they too in return. One was now helping paint pink flower like petals across her hand while the other showed her different mixtures that he was making.

"Where were you?"

Cato's worried face was suddenly the only thing Peeta could see as he crowded in on Peeta.

"You were right behind us then you weren't. I was looking all over the gym."

Peeta could see beneath the surface that he wasn't just worried for Peeta; he had been scared he was abandoned again. It was still the very real and raw pain leftover from his month as a hostage at the hands of District Two. Peeta only wanted to make it better, but he wasn't sure anymore if that was possible. He would only hurt him more, especially if the truth ever came out.

"I'm sorry, I was just in the bathroom. Everything's fine." Peeta lied and reached forward, his hand just barely ghosting over the top of Cato's. The tension in his shoulders and jaw lessened and then they both headed over to the endurance training station.

"So," Peeta nudged Cato's side, "Who do you thinks got the better endurance?"

"Oh ho!" Cato laughed. "I don't think you want—"

Cato was unexpectedly cut off when the lunch bell rang out across the gym, except instead of ringing just once it blared on for ten successive seconds. Then it came to an end as abruptly as it started. The sudden silence afterwards was startling loud to Peeta's ears. Everyone was looking around in confusion. No one seemed to know what the siren meant. It usually only rang to signal lunch and the end of training.

"Tributes!"

A voice burst out over the speaker system. It sounded like the man was standing right next to them. Cato moved in closer to Peeta protectively. Peeta immediately honed in on Prim and saw her staring up at something. He followed her line of sight and saw that Plutarch Heavensbee was the one that spoke. He stood at the edge of the balcony with a microphone in his hand and a drink in the other.

"Tributes, please report back to your rooms immediately. Training is canceled for the day."

And that was it. That was all he said. No more explanation. Nothing. Just that training was canceled. The rest of the Gamemakers began to stand and chatter amongst themselves animatedly as they filed out the balcony. Peeta looked at Cato questioningly, but his face was a mirror image of his.

"What's happening?" Prim asked after running over to their side.

"I don't know. This has never happened." Cato answered.

"I'm scared."

"Don't worry. It'll be okay. Let's just get back to our room and see what Haymitch knows."

Peeta took Prim's hand in his and lead her towards the elevators where the other tributes were gathering. He locked eyes with Asasia just as the elevator doors were sliding shut on her. A vile grin slipped across her face and she motioned with one finger across her neck in a slitting motion before she was cut from view.

Cato leaned in and asked, "What the hell was that?"

"She's Stasson's aunt." It was all he needed to say. Cato understood the rest.

In the elevator Cato risked giving Peeta a chaste kiss to the lips before he exited the elevator on his floor. Peeta was left feeling flushed and unsure. Things weren't better, they just didn't have time to fix anything and so it felt better to cling to what they knew.

Once upstairs they learned Haymitch was just as clueless as them as to what had happened.

"In the past 75 years of the Hunger Games this is unprecedented. The order of business is never interrupted. Never." Haymitch said with wide sober eyes.

Those weren't the comforting words Peeta was looking for, but then again Haymitch had never been one to mince words.

"So what we just sit here until the next time they ask us to jump?"

Haymitch frowned but nodded, "Yes."

The afternoon wore on slowly. It was almost like it was taunting him as Peeta moved from one spot in the apartment to another, constantly looking for the place that would assuage his nerves. His headache went away, but the tension never left. Prim had fallen asleep soon after laying down on her bed. He envied her ability to fall asleep at will. There were just too many thoughts coursing through Peeta's mind at the moment for him to find rest. Effie had been gone all afternoon and he wondered where she was and what was happening outside the training center. Why had training been canceled today? Was Finnick an ally or just tricking him? And what of Johanna or Beetee, could they too be trusted? Asasia was definitely his biggest worry going into the games. Just like Stasson he knew once she had his scent she wouldn't let go. She'd hunt him down to the end of the Arena and back. As long as it took to bring him down.

And then of course Peeta found his mind drifting to Gale. He daydreamed about his azure eyes, about his black coal stained hands and their rough texture. How they felt against the raw skin of his back. Was Gale okay back in Twelve? Peeta feared for his safety more than anything. That President Snow would try to hurt him through Gale. He might not know what they did together on his last night before the reaping, but their close friendship couldn't be denied, everyone knew of it.

Portia and Cinna showed up before dinner. Cinna went to Prim's room to wake her while Portia joined Peeta at the newest place he had taken residency, the windowsill.

"Hello there," Portia greeted. "Mind if I sit with you?"

Her voice was soft and soothing and Peeta was grateful she was there. Everything was falling apart around him and he felt like he was barely hanging on and then she would show up and show him he had the strength to pull through, because she believed in him. Many people did.

Peeta pulled his legs in and she took the space that opened up in front of him on the windowsill.

"I figure you know about as much as I do?"

"Less probably," Portia laughed, but it didn't quite meet her eyes. It was again like she was sharing an inside joke he wasn't privy to yet.

He knew she wouldn't know anything, but he had hoped for some new information. It had been hours now since training was canceled today and he was worried. They needed this time to train. Prim needed this time.

"I'm not the most popular person at the moment." Portia illuminated for Peeta. Her head was held strong, but he noted hesitancy in her warm gold eyes.

"What do you mean?" Peeta sat up a little.

"It's nothing, don't fret yourself my boy," She laid a gold manicured hand on his knee. "The opening ceremony costume was just a little too grand of a spectacle… I'll have some enemies in the fashion world for sure now."

Peeta tried to digest those words. There was something behind them. He suddenly realized there was something behind everything she had done up until this point, but then she laughed and it all seemed so inconsequential.

"Are you going to be okay?" Peeta asked seriously and she waved a hand at him frivolously.

"Oh yes, fine! The fashion industry is quite petty, but you need only worry about yourself. Can you promise me you'll do that? Sometime's the best thing you can do is take care of yourself."

Her eyes were serious and imploring. He took a deep breath for what felt like the first time. His lungs filled with much needed oxygen and as it was expelled from his body he felt marginally better.

"I can try."

"That's all I can ask. Now lets have some dinner."

The Avoxes served a large and overindulgent meal as always. Peeta treated himself to some wine hoping it would take a little of the edge off. Haymitch was already on his third. Primrose ate silently at the table nestled between Haymitch and Cinna while Peeta and Portia sat on the other side. Finally by the time dessert was being served did the table find its voice and begin talking again. Prim was asking Cinna about what he would dress her in for the interviews and Haymitch was filling Peeta in on everything he knew about Asasia, which wasn't much. Asasia had won the 64th Hunger Games and was famous for her brutal skill with a spiked club. They say it was one of the bloodiest final battles in recent memory as she took on two male tributes at the same time. Their faces were unrecognizable after the final cannon shot went off and she was declared victor. Peeta's dread only grew as he realized he was now facing down the origins of Stasson's malevolence.

The soft electric hum alerted Peeta to the opening of the elevator doors. He looked up and saw Effie step into the penthouse. She walked towards the dinning room table. She had never missed a meal before when they were in training. Peeta noticed she was chewing her bottom lip and that her wig was slightly askew. Little things that didn't mean much except for when you knew Effie and knew she never left anything out of place.

She came to a stop before the table and cleared her throat, drawing everyone's attention to her.

"Effie, you missed dinner." Haymitch stated, like it was inconceivable.

But she didn't take the bait. No snappy retort fell from her lips. Instead she looked with grim eyes framed by peacock-feathered eyelashes at Peeta and then Primrose.

"I have some… news to report," Effie began. "All further Hunger Game formalities have been suspended. The games are now scheduled to begin tomorrow morning at 8 am."


	15. The Quarter Quell

Ch. 15- The Quarter Quell

"What? No, please nooo! You cant!"

The familiar drone of the hovercrafts engines blocked out all other noise in the hovercrafts bay. There were no children sniffling and crying out for their mommy on this one. Just stone cold faces and numb shocked expressions.

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be.

"Peeta no, don't let them take me! I'm not ready to die!"

"I promise, Prim. It's going to be okay. I promise!"

Nothing was ever going to be okay again. They weren't ready. They weren't prepared. She needed more time. Peeta thought he had more time. Would things ever be made right between him and Cato now? Could he protect Prim from the bloodbath? Was the reaping really the last time he'd ever see his father or Gale?

"Haymitch… Haymitch! You have to do everything you can. You have to save her."

"Find allies. Find shelter. Stay alive. Don't engage. I'll do what I can from this end, I promise. You are not alone in this."

The sound of Prim's desperate cries as she was carried off by the Peacekeepers this morning echoed through Peeta's hallow brain and raked over his broken heart. The pacemaker worked its hardest to keep him whole, but the world just kept trying to break it down. After the Peacemakers carried her away that morning it was his time to go. He went peacefully, what else could he do? The Capitol was in control, always had been.

A woman went around injecting the tracking devices in everyone's right arm. It felt like a hot metal poker was stabbed into his skin then it was over in a second. But the psychological pain of what was to come lingered on. It ate away at his insides like rust on metal, slowly building up on his organs until nothing could move or function.

He was dead in the water.

He couldn't breath.

Someone was watching him.

Across the bay in the other row of seats Asasia was buckled in and watching with her beetle-black eyes like a feline predator stalking its prey. Her face, what was visible beneath the curtain of black hair, was etched with deep grooves of hate. She fed off his misery and fear like a leech, relishing in the newest turn of events.

"Things are happening fast now. You need to pay close attention. Stay alert."

"I don't understand. What's happening fast now? Haymitch, what's happening?"

Peeta's demand hung in the air unanswered and left him with even more questions. He tried to sort it out, but the incessant drone of the engines and the anxiety that hung in the air like foul smog clouded his thoughts. Everything was jumbled now.

His father was trying to come to him in the crowd but he shook his head no. His mother turned her head away from him.

Prim was holding his hand as she tried to sleep like he was her anchor in the middle of an unforgiving sea.

Cato was walking away from him on the cobblestone streets of District Two. Would he ever walk any other way but from him?

Gale's face crumpled like a building imploding. Tears or rain—he still didn't know—raced down his face.

"Just be smart. Be safe. Listen carefully."

The hovercraft tilted forward and he knew they were close now. The descent had begun. Soon the clock would set to sixty seconds and those might be the last he ever knew. The last Prim or Cato knew. If they're taken from me today I—I just don't know…

Something in his pocket shifted and he remembered the fierce hug Haymitch had pulled him into after his final words. He had left something in Peeta's pocket. He adjusted the straps of the seat belt to get into the pocket of his jacket and felt cold metal against his fingertips. He slipped it out just enough to catch a glimpse of the parting gift Haymitch had left for him. He felt his throat constrict. In his hand he held the small gold pin of the Mockingjay Riece had given him. He had no idea how Haymitch ended up with it. The last he saw it was when he pinned it to Katniss' jacket after she had died. Another thing lost to the games…

Haymitch really did believe in him. This was his way of showing he stood with the Mockingjay. And so as the bay doors opened and the Peacekeepers went around unlatching all the Tributes, Peeta took a deep breath and walked out into the catacombs beneath the Arena with his head held high.

The waiting chamber was a familiar sight: a table against one wall loaded with food, his last meal; against the center wall was the glass tube that would carry him to the Cornucopia; and then standing in the center of the room waiting for him like a life raft in the middle of a turbulent sea was Portia.

Once the Peacekeepers had exited and the door slid shut Peeta raced into Portia's open arms and pulled her tight. A sob escaped his lips as his walls began to crumble. He'd done this all once before and it was supposed to be that last time. He wasn't even supposed to make it out and yet here he was again, on the precipice of death and this time being joined by his friend and fiancé.

Portia held onto Peeta just as tight and when he pulled back he was shocked to find tears glistening in her eyes. The gold mascara was running down her cheeks and made it look as if she were crying gold. It would have been beautiful if it weren't so tragic.

"Peeta, my precious boy on fire…" She choked off. Unable to finish her sentence as her emotions got the best of her. She pulled him back in for another hug and Peeta held on for as long as he could.

It felt different this time.

Before she was all confidence and soothing presence. But now Peeta could see just how much this was affecting her.

It felt like a goodbye this time.

They finally broke apart and Portia tried wiping at her cheeks, only further smearing the gold across her hazel skin.

"I apologize. Let's—let's get your uniform on and then have you eat something. You know the drill by now."

They prepped for the games in silence. His uniform was some tight spandex thing this time like his winter jammies. There was no jacket or boots, just odd rubbery shoes. He hid the mockingjay pin in his breast pocket. Peeta could feel the anxiety building inside his chest like there was a balloon in there slowly inflating, growing larger with each passing minute, displacing his organs and pushing up against his chest cavity. Soon he would have trouble breathing. His heart would struggle to continue beating against the pressure. He had to rein it back under control, but it felt like all hope was lost. There were no more options left to him. Only one person comes out of the games alive, there would be no salvation at the last minute where everyone he loves gets to live.

Portia flitted about nervously in the background as he tried to force down some food. He didn't know what the situation for food and water would be like once inside the arena and he didn't want to start off at a disadvantage, even if eating was like trying to force sawdust down his throat.

"Eat some of the dry-roasted nuts there. They'll give you sustainable energy."

Portia pulled the bowl of nuts closer for Peeta and he snatched a handful of them and forced them down with some water. Then he looked back up at Portia and knew his façade was breaking. It might not have been there to begin with, but he quickly felt it all deteriorating. The damn was crumbling against the powerful tide and worse of all was he didn't know who could stop it. Or who he wanted to stop it. Gale or Cato. It seemed so unfair to make him choose. But wasn't that what it always came down to?

Fuck, I can't breathe. It's too much to ask of one person! Peeta's mind began to reel. He was losing out against the dark. The Capitol, Snow—they'd already won, now they were just gloating. The balloon in his chest had swelled so big it felt like his chest might just burst open. Everything was going dark again. He lived in the darkness, the Capitol had blotted out all the light, all the hope. He really was just a matchstick. There wasn't even enough fire in him to light a candle, let alone be a beacon for every lost soul in Panem.

"Shh, shh, it's okay. You're okay." Portia was suddenly all around him, holding him again and stroking his hair. "Just focusing on my voice and your breathing. Can you do that for me?"

Peeta nodded against her cheek and breathed in the warm fruity scent of her hair before exhaling out his mouth. Her hands never stopped stroking his hair; her voice never stopped extolling his virtues. Again he wished he could have had a mother like this—someone who cared for him and truly loved him. Unequivocally. Maybe then he wouldn't be in this mess. Maybe then he wouldn't be such a destructive force.

Maybe…

"Time to prepare for launch." Plutarch Heavensbee announced over the intercom and they broke apart like they had been stung.

In the silence left behind by his announcement Peeta imagined he could hear Prim's whimpering. She was trying to be so brave, but what thirteen-year-old girl was ready to face down death?

"Portia, t-tell me it's going to be alright." Peeta's voice broke at the end.

Her eye's glittered again with unshed tears, but she held them back this time. It was her turn to put on the brave face. She helped move him towards the glass container that would transport him to the arena. He stepped hesitantly on the silver disc and turned to face her, his heart jack hammering against his chest.

"Of course, Peeta. It's going to be alright. You're going to—"

The glass suddenly shot down from the ceiling in a hiss of air to seal him off from her and he never got to hear her finish the sentence. She rested a hand against the glass and he brought his up to press against the opposing side. He felt his extremities quaking like a terrified child's. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the glass. He wished more than anything that he could just be on the other side of this glass.

A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and when he pulled back and looked up he saw two Peacekeepers entering the room. He didn't understand what was happening. They didn't do this last time.

Portia turned to greet them. He saw her lips move, but couldn't hear what she said. Then one of the Peacekeepers backhanded her across the face. The other brought an elbow to her gut right after and she crumpled forward.

"NO!" Peeta screamed and began pounding against the glass.

But his cries were lost on the room as the first Peacekeeper pulled her arms behind her back and tugged her upright. She turned to look back at Peeta, blood dripping from her nose, and there was no mistaking the fear in her eyes. But she was also distinctly defiant. She held nothing but love and pride in her eyes for Peeta. She mouthed something. She wanted him to look away. But he couldn't. Peeta was frozen in horror. Nothing was working as he watched the door open again and in walked President Snow. He was dressed in a cream white suit and blood red bowtie. His eyes flicked over to Peeta, trapped inside the glass prison, and then back to Portia.

"No, no! PLEASE! NO! DON'T HURT HER!" Peeta screamed until his lungs felt raw and ravaged, but still he went unheard.

Portia held her head high in defiance and stared down Snow like he were some petty criminal. Every hair on Peeta's body stood at attention. Everything was moving in real time, but his mind was working so fast that it was processed things in slow motion.

President Snow spoke briefly before reaching inside the left lapel of his cream jacket. Before the hand withdrew Peeta knew what was inside of it. There was no denying what would happen next, but he still screamed. He pounded against the glass with all the energy he had, hoping, praying there was some way out of this nightmare. If he beat the glass hard enough maybe they might stop.

The silver polished gun was raised to a point right between Portia's eyes. Then Snow's finger pulled the trigger and her blood spattered across the room, reaching as far as the glass that Peeta was encased in. He collapsed backwards in horror and disgust. Her blood and brain matter trickled down the outside of the encasing like globs of jelly. Her body was limp and lifeless on the floor, blood pooling everywhere as it seeped out the hole in the back of her head. Snow looked up from his handiwork and gave a sneering salute to Peeta before walking back out the door he came in.

And it was all over, just like that. Not more than thirty seconds had gone by and everything was different. Everything was scorched and barren. There was no human emotion left, just blistering heat and blinding redness. He wanted to break through the glass. He wanted to claw and rip and feel the flesh tearing from Snow's face, to feel his bones crushing under the weight of Peeta's hands.

"AHHHHHH!" Peeta screamed and screamed as he pounded against the glass until his hands were bruised and numb, until it felt like there was nothing left at all.

The container lifted Peeta up and as he emerged into the blinding light of the new world above him the scream that had started after Portia's death echoed out into the arena and dissolved into nothing. Soon it would be joined with new cries of pain and horror as new blood was spilled. The sacrifices the Capitol demanded of them in penance, for they had all sinned and this was their hell.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth annual Hunger Games begin!" Claudius Templesmith's voice boomed across the Arena.

The clock above the gold Cornucopia came to life and began the countdown from sixty seconds.

Peeta had sixty seconds to pull it together.

He tried breathing deeply again. Tears kept slipping down his cheeks. The air tasted of salt. The sun nipped at his skin. The climate was humid and his spandex suit clung to his body.

Peeta had fifty-four seconds to clear his mind and find his center.

He tried wiping the image of blood and brains from his mind. He tried clearing it of the lifeless image of Portia's body. He tried clearing it of the rage that had filled it with one look at Snow's pale face. But it was all he could think of. It consumed him.

Peeta had thirty-five seconds to take in his surroundings.

Okay Peeta, look, look around you. Take it in. NOW! He finally noticed all the tributes were lined up in a semi-circle again, but this time their pedestal was an island in the middle of a brilliant turquoise sea. Sand bars ran out in length from the island in the center where the Cornucopia was stationed in a formation like the spokes on a wheel. Then circling all around them in 360 degrees was a thin white sand beach and a dense green forest.

Peeta had fourteen seconds to panic.

He couldn't swim. He was trapped. He could see all the valuable goods located in the heart of the Cornucopia and separated from him by a sea of water. It could have been ten miles or ten feet to dry land and he couldn't make it.

Peeta had eight seconds to locate his loved ones.

Cato was to his right eight people down and he held a look of steely determination on his face, legs braced to dive right in. He wasn't fazed in the least by the watery arena. Primrose was three to his left and she was stunned. Her head was looking up, down, all around. She had never seen anything like it.

Three, Peeta's chest constricted.

Two, Peeta's pulse skyrocketed.

One, the gong rang out and Peeta's stomach dropped like a dive off a cliff.

The games had officially begun.

There was splashing all around as the tributes that knew how to swim dove into the water and swam as fast as they could straight for the Cornucopia or for safety in the thick forest. It was chaos and Peeta was at a standstill. There was a splash to his right and he pivoted, ready to kick the incoming attacker. Instead he was shocked to find Primrose paddling threw the water towards him.

"You can swim?" Peeta asked incredulously.

"Yeah, my dad used to take us to this lake. Now you gonna help me up or what?"

Prim spit out some water and held a hand up for Peeta to grab. He pulled her up and great, now there were two of them on the pedestal.

"You were screaming. Just before the clock started, what—"

A guttural cry pierced across the warm salt air like a missile and tearing through their eardrums. Prim's eyes shot open wide as she whipped around looking for the source. Peeta didn't have to look, he knew what that sound meant. The bloodbath had begun.

"Oh god!" Prim gasped. "Oh god, oh my god!"

Peeta pulled Prim around to face him and shook her.

"Look at me, I know this is hard, but we have to focus on us right now. Do not get distracted by it or that'll be you. Got it?"

He stared into her wild olive eyes until they settled back down and she closed her eyes, before reopening them with a new look of determination. More screams ripped through the air, shredding the calm like blades to a curtain. The sounds of clashing steel and ripping flesh joined in the background.

"We have to get off this, I think I can help guide you." Prim shouted over the onslaught of noise at Peeta.

He stepped backwards in hesitation. He couldn't swim and he couldn't trust that Prim would be able to save him if he started to sink. It was too much to ask of such a little girl.

"I can do it." She shouted at him. The look in her eyes told him she believed it.

But they were out of time and there was no way to test it because Peeta spotted closing in on them from his right was Asasia. She was sprinting along one of the sandbar spokes straight towards them. Once parallel with them she dove straight into the water. Her strong arms propelled her through the water like a jet. Peeta didn't have time to think. He just acted. He turned and shoved Prim right off the edge into the water on the other side.

"Find Cato, get to safety!" Peeta screamed and there was no questioning him. And by the look in Prim's eyes she knew to listen to him.

"Peeta look out!" Prim shrieked, chocking on water as she swam backwards and away from him.

He swiveled about just in time to see Asasia jumping atop the pedestal. Her jet-black hair was plastered to her face and both beetle eyes were visible, filled with gleeful hate.

"Tell me, what happens if the boy on fire gets wet?" Asasia laughed.

In her right hand she held a large wooden club laced with large, razor-sharp metal spikes. It was a brutal looking instrument of war and already dripping with blood and flesh. She raised it readying to strike and Peeta had to think quickly: death by Asasia's hands or the sea's?

With out a second to spare Peeta unleashed an animalistic cry and jolted forward, straight into her exposed midsection. She must have been shocked by his forward charge because the spiked club remained suspended above her head as he charged her weaponless. They connected with a jarring jolt that ran down the length of Peeta's spine as he carried her forward and into the water with a wet slap.

The world inverted. He couldn't tell which way was up or down. There were bubbles everywhere, kicking feet, and bits of flesh washed free from the club floated aimlessly through the thrashing water. Something hard connected with Peeta's back and he cried out, inadvertently swallowing more water. His nostrils burned. His eyes burned. His mouth tasted of salt and blood from biting his tongue.

Then suddenly there was another body in the water before him and he was tugged to the surface. Once he breached Peeta quickly sucked in as much fresh air as he could. It was Finnick that had saved him, but Asasia was just as fast on his tail. He had forgot that both of them being from Four meant they must have been excellent swimmers. This Arena was tailor made for them Peeta thought with a spike of resentment. But in that moment he was glad to suddenly have an ally, even if it wouldn't last when the number of tributes left dwindled.

They were almost to the sandbar when Asasia caught up to them.

"You can make it Peeta, just kick and paddle!" Finnick shouted in Peeta's ear before throwing him towards the dry land right as Asasia was upon them.

Peeta flailed helplessly in the water only a few feet from the sandbar. He submerged. He was sinking. He didn't know what to do. There was a loud cry muffled by the water and then the water was stained red. Paddle and kick. Paddle and kick. Peeta repeated those words and worked his extremities as hard as he could. His lungs burned from the exertion and lack of oxygen. He was getting light-headed when finally he came in contact with the sand bar. He pulled himself ashore and gulped down big deep breaths of hot moist air.

The sounds of the bloodbath raged all around him, battle cries and screams of pain. Clashing steel and splashing water. A hand landed on Peeta's leg and he kicked out in fear.

"Fuck!" Finnick groaned.

"Shit! Sorry, I thought—"

"No time! She's not dead, just injured." Finnick said muffled through his hand that he held over his nose where Peeta had kicked him.

Finnick helped Peeta up and then they ran down the sandbar towards the Cornucopia. Finnick seemed in fine condition as he raced ahead of Peeta, his signature golden trident held at the ready. But where was Prim? Peeta scanned in every direction but it was chaos and he couldn't spot her. Nor Cato. Finnick slipped on a sticky spot of sand, but Peeta caught him before he fell. They looked down and saw the sand was clumped together with a thick pool of dark red blood and strips of flesh, like they'd been flayed from the body. Peeta's head spun. He had hoped to never see violence like this again and yet here he was thrust back in the heart of it.

A few more feet down and Peeta saw the body the blood must have belonged too. His face was bashed in and unrecognizable like a hammer had been brought down on a soft melon. Peeta knew it had to be Asasia's spiked club.

The white powdery sand around the Cornucopia was splattered with red like a kids finger painting, but much more sinister.

"Look out!"

It was Cato's voice. Peeta didn't see him anywhere, but he knew to trust that voice. And so he immediately dove to the ground and not a moment too soon. A silver arrow slashed through the space he had just been occupying. Looking up from the soft sand he saw Cato charge from inside the Cornucopia and drive the tip of his sword through the pliant flesh of the attackers stomach. The woman—from Nine Peeta thought—didn't even scream. She looked at Cato with a comical look of shock as the sword protruded from her back before he ripped it out and she fell to the ground dead.

Peeta jumped from the ground and ran to join Cato. Finnick was close behind, his eyes sweeping in all directions for another attack.

"Where's Prim?" Peeta asked frantically. He could feel his right eye twitching and knew he must have looked mad, but that didn't matter. Only her safety did.

"I'm here!" Prim offered from behind him.

Peeta whipped around to see Prim emerging from inside the Cornucopia. They must have taken up inside there for safety. She had a belt of small blades fastened around her waist and Peeta breathed a sigh of relief. She was both safe and armed now.

"Well looks like we all got weapons now," Peeta stated as he reached down and took the bow from the dead woman's grasp. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"I'll take lead, Finnick you stay behind Peeta incase we have to go for a dip," Cato ordered as he took charge and lead them all down one of the spokes of sand towards the towering wall of tropical trees.

They left not a moment too soon, because just after they left to Cornucopia a fresh battle started up when Asasia reappeared along with the tributes from Ten. Blood poured from a gash on her left shoulder, most likely from Finnick's trident, but that didn't hinder her as she launched into action and attacked the man to her right. Enobaria launched herself from seemingly out of nowhere and took the female from Ten down, ripping out her throat with her razor teeth. Blood dripped down her chin like slopped juice and bits of skin stuck between her teeth. Her eyes were feral and inhumane. Peeta shivered.

"Go!" Finnick shouted with a shove to Peeta's shoulder. He hadn't realized he'd stopped to stare. It was too horrifying to look away. Prim and Cato were a few leagues ahead and so he raced to catch up.

They ran until Prim couldn't go any further. Then Cato lifter her onto his back and they hiked even further. No one talked. Peeta wasn't sure if he could. His blood was still racing. So much had happened in barely a ten-minute span and now they were alone again, lost in the maze of the thick, sweltering rainforest. He couldn't begin to process it all. Had Snow really just killed Portia in front of him? He was out to inflict as much pain as possible on Peeta. He wanted to break him down. Like making an Arena that started in the middle of an ocean.

The forest floor started to slant upward and it was a tough hike. It only got steeper and the forest was much denser than last years. The forest floor was littered with tangles of vines and undergrowth that they had to weed their way through. His thighs burned with the exertion and his back throbbed where one of Asasia's spikes had nicked him. Not once did they come across a source of water. They could hear the sounds of wildlife every so often, but they were well camouflaged in the forest. It felt as if they were alone in the world and that was a troubling thought to have, because they very much weren't. Any false sense of safety provided by that feeling could get them killed.

After another hour the canon fire started to mark the dead. Peeta counted seven total, which was a surprisingly low number compared to last year. It probably had to do with the fact that everyone in here was an experienced killer besides Prim. Peeta knew that Asasia, Enobaria, Gloss and Cashmere would still be out there, a team now. No one was safe until they were eliminated. No one was safe until Snow was eliminated.

"Oh Peeta. My brave, brave boy on fire…"

It was as if someone had knocked his legs out from under him. Peeta couldn't stand and he collapsed to his knees on the spongy forest floor.

"Peeta? What's wrong?"

Her voice. Her amber eyes and chocolate skin. He'd never see it again. Her motherly embrace he'd never feel again. It was just another thing Snow had stolen from him.

"PEETA!"

Cato's shout brought him back to reality like a car slamming at full speed into a wall. It was painful and disorienting. His cheeks were wet and his legs were weak. He didn't know how to go on anymore. They were all doomed anyways.

"Cato…" Peeta whispered brokenly.

His fiancé took in Peeta's state and turned to the others.

"We make camp here for the night. Everything looks the same so I don't think we're going to get much better than this and Peeta needs rest."

Finnick nodded and took Prim's hand.

"Let's see if we can find some firewood."

They wondered off—never out of eyesight—but allowing for some semblance of privacy. Cato then bent down and scooped Peeta up in his arms before carrying him to the base of a large tree trunk. He then sat against it and held Peeta close in his strong arms. They used to be meatier, another thing he'd lost during his captivity, but he still beat Peeta any day of the week in muscle mass. Peeta nestled his head in the nook of Cato's neck and breathed in deep. He smelled of salt water and sweat. Peeta felt the little puffs of air against his head from Cato's breath. They sat like that in tranquil peace, only the sounds of the odd bird and their steady breathing to keep them company.

It was in moments like these that Peeta wished he could stop time. Right here, in this moment, they were perfectly in sync. He knew what Peeta needed and he provided it with out question. They leaned on each other for strength and fought together against the fire.

Were they only ever good together when their lives were in danger?

It was a question Peeta couldn't answer. Not until he knew what he wanted and in that moment all he needed was Cato's embrace.

"Snow… Snow killed Portia," Peeta whispered against Cato's neck. He felt his eyes welling up again and he was just so sick of crying. This wasn't for the audience to know. This wasn't something the Capitol citizens got to share in on. They weren't privy to his misery. This was his life! Real fucking life. Not a reality show.

Cato's arms tightened around Peeta and his breath hitched, but he didn't say anything. He just nuzzled his nose into Peeta's blonde locks and kissed his forehead.

"He wants to take everything."

"Then we wont let him." Cato said with conviction.

And in that moment, when everything seemed lost to him, Peeta believed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for those who have reviewed! It's great to hear from you and I'm glad to see people are enjoying it!


	16. Trouble in Paradise

Ch. 16- Trouble in Paradise

The sun set a few hours later, dipping low beyond the thick green sprawling mass of jungle. They learned of who had died in the bloodbath as their pictures played out across the night sky. Of course none of the Career's had fallen, but that was to be expected. Finnick had caught some lizard-like squirrels which they roasted over the fire Prim helped build. Still there was no water and they were all parched from an exhaustive day. Now that the sun was down they quickly snuffed out the fire so as not to draw any Careers. Haymitch had also sent a gift during the evening. It was a small metal object, barely larger than Peeta's thumb. It was vaguely familiar. Yet nobody had a clue what the device was used for and so Peeta slipped it into his breast pocket for the time being hoping it would reveal its role to him at a later time.

Finnick offered to take first watch and let the others sleep. Cato looked exhausted from the battle earlier today and he passed out as soon as his head hit Peeta's lap. Prim snuggled against him on the other side and managed to fall asleep with just as much ease. Yet Peeta stayed awake. He knew if he closed his eyes he would only be able to see Portia's face and Snow's silver gun. And yet, as if to spite him, his body dropped off into the land of sleep almost immediately.

Peeta was back in the woods outside Twelve. A place he never thought he'd see again, let alone that he'd be there with Gale. They were training in the woods again and Peeta wanted more than anything to just reach out and touch him. To feel the warmth of his skin beneath his fingers and know they were real. That he was safe. But a troop of Peacekeepers stormed their training ground before he could touch him. Gale tried to fight them but he was overpowered. His arms were held roughly behind his back by two Peacekeepers and then Cato marched into the clearing. He loosened an unbearable look of hate at Peeta before gunning Gale down.

"Gale!" Peeta jolted awake with a shout.

Minutes or hours may have passed. He had no idea. All he knew was his heart was pounding a mile a minute and he had to get Cato off him. At some point it had started raining nearby. He could hear the pitter-patter of the rainfall, but everything was dry here. Peeta gently repositioned Cato's head so it was against the ground and then he got up. He wasn't sure what he was feeling anymore. But then when did he ever?

Standing over the charred ground of their campfire Peeta tried to shake the nerves from his body. It wasn't Cato's fault. He couldn't take it out on him. Peeta's mind was cleared of all those thoughts though when another voice spoke from the dark and spooked him.

"Who's Gale?"

Finnick was resting against a tree with thick ropes of vines scaling its trunk like veins. He was slowly twirling his trident in his hand idly while keeping watch. He was almost invisible in the darkness except for his brilliant green eyes.

"I forgot you where here," Peeta said after staring him down through the dark. He was so used to it being just Cato and he in the games that it was disarming to find they had company among them in their campsite.

"Think I was gonna run? Maybe kill you all in your sleep?" Finnick kept his voice light and taunting, but his sea green eyes remained un-amused.

"Not at all. I'm sorry, I should be thanking you for saving my life."

"That's the second time too, not that I'm counting."

A real smile quirked at the corner of his perfect cheekbones and he gave a wink. The flirty Finnick was back and Peeta relaxed a little. He took a seat across from him and began fiddling with the mockingjay pin, just to have something for his hands to do.

"It's raining?" Peeta asked, just for conversation.

"Yeah, started a bit ago. There was some lightning before that too and a bell that tolled twelve times."

"Know what it meant?" Peeta remembered in the last game how a bell would toll before Claudius made an announcement, like the feast or a new rule.

"No idea. It just preceded the bad weather."

They fell into silence. Weather was the worst topic of conversation for small talk.

"So, Gale?" Finnick prodded again.

Peeta looked up with a glare. "I don't want to talk about it."

That was not a topic for small talk by any means. Finnick held up his hands in surrender, the trident going up with them.

"Hey, I'm just sayin'. It's not too often that one wakes up with another man's name on his lips while cuddling with his fiancé."

 _Fuck, the camera's probably got that too then._  Peeta tried to play it off. He rearranged his face into one of bored disinterest.

"It's nothing, just a bad dream. He's no one."

Finnick clucked disapprovingly.

"Denial is a tricky beast. If you're not careful you might start believing it and that's how we lose our minds." Finnick tapped his trident against the side of his head. He seemed to know what he was talking about from intimate experience.

"Not having trouble in paradise, are we?" Finnick was just continuing on in his typical vein of teasing, but Peeta was over it.

"And what do  _you_  know of love?" Peeta snarled, losing his cool.

He had finally snapped. He didn't need lecturing on relationships from a prostitute. Finnick's mouth snapped shut and just as quickly Peeta felt awful. He looked away and out past Finnick. In the distance a thick fog was building up among the trees and Peeta realized that the mysterious rain had ended while they were talking. The forest was silent once again save for the odd croak of a frog. In the distance the dense fog blanketed the earth like a cloud of cotton and slowly crept forward, throwing out tendrils like an octopus' legs. It must have been a reaction from the rain and so Peeta disregarded it.

There was a chill in the air now and not just because of the uncomfortable silence between Peeta and Finnick. He wanted to say something to make it better, but he also didn't like how easily Finnick could read him. It was disconcerting to say the least. Instead it was Finnick who went to speak first.

"Look I get it—"

"SHH!" Peeta hissed and jumped to his feet.

He reached for an arrow from the satchel on his back, but then remembered his bow was over by Cato and Prim. Shit. That was a rookie mistake.

"Don't move," He whispered to Finnick. But he ignored Peeta and stood, coming to look around the tree at what Peeta was staring at.

Peeta could tell the exact moment he spotted it because all the muscles in his back tensed and he brought his other hand to grip the trident, readying for battle. There was a man in the distance. It was too dark to make out whom he was, but he was running frantically. And definitely in their direction.

"What's he running towards?" Peeta whispered, now just behind Finnick. He hoped the man didn't see them positioned behind the tree. "Do you think he saw us?"

"I think the better question is what's he running from?"

The man was slowing, but still coming straight at them. He seemed to be limping now and before he had sprinted just fine. Suddenly he stumbled and collapsed. His right arm flailed uncontrollably. His head jerked backwards into the earth and his legs contorted. The fog that had built in the distance was now on top of him and Peeta just managed to make out a small choked off cry before he went still and then disappeared, enveloped by the fog.

"I don't know who that was," Finnick stated perplexed.

Peeta didn't either. He didn't see the problem in that. He'd rather not know him because that meant no fighting.

"Is he faking it?" Peeta asked.

He squinted, trying to see through the fog; anticipating an ambush now. But there was something else that was off too. The fog. It didn't move normally. And it was progressing forward way too fast. A sickeningly sweat odor invaded Peeta's nose and he snorted, trying to clear it of the smell, but it was overwhelming.

"Something's wrong…" Peeta pulled Finnick back. Everything inside him was screaming out in warning.

In the seconds it took Peeta to put it together the first tendrils of fog were upon them and he felt his legs started to blister.

"Run!" Peeta shouted. "Everybody RUN!"

Cato shot up with his sword pointed and ready for a fight, while Prim woke slowly. Then Cato saw the approaching bank of fog and wasted no time sheathing his sword, pulling Prim up and leading her in a sprint down the hill.

Peeta and Finnick took off right behind him, Peeta making sure to grab his bow on the way past the trunk they slept under. The fog moved too fast to be normal. It had to be another Gamemaker controlled element, like the fire from last year. It was tough going trying to run through the thick forest. It was stupidly dark and there were lots of bramble and vines to get tripped up on. His legs burned again, but not from exertion this time. It was a chemical pain. He could feel his skin blistering from whatever substance the poisonous fog contained. It prickled up his skin and the pain burrowed deep into his muscle like thousands of little ticks.

Finnick quickly out paced Cato as he was trying to help Prim not trip over the underbrush.

"Follow me to the water!" Finnick shouted.

It was the best option available to them and Peeta was yet again thankful to have Finnick on their side. At least for the time being. Even as they raced down the hill for their lives from a killer fog Peeta could never forget that at some point Finnick would turn on them. It was only natural if he wanted to live.

They never got more than a few yards ahead of the fog. It was quicker work going down the incline than when they hiked up it, but there were too many obstacles in their way and it was just too dark to trust flat out sprinting. And worse of all Peeta started to notice a new effect of the fog. His legs were beginning to twitch and spasm uncontrollably. He found himself starting to run in a zigzag due to the wild dance of his legs. This must have been the reason for that mans collapse in the fog. It worked against the nervous system.

Peeta noticed Prim was also struggling against the fog's effects. Her small body could only take so much before her legs gave out completely. Cato wasted no time scooping her up in his arms and carrying her. A flash of moonlight through the foliage revealed more disturbing sights. Prim's face was beginning to droop on one side like a soggy, wet bag.

This couldn't be it. They couldn't die due to some ridiculous Gamemaker created fog. Peeta wouldn't allow it. He put everything he had into his legs. But the poison was leeching its way into his brain and clouding everything up. His arms were beginning to spasm and his left eyelid was drooping closed.

"I—I can't see!" Peeta cried out in panic, his lifeless eyelid stalling his progress completely.

A creeper caught up around his ankle and he fell to the ground with a jarring thud. He couldn't even feel his legs anymore. When he tried to push himself back up the muscles in his arms seized and he collapsed.

"Finnick take Prim! I've got him."

Suddenly Peeta was lifted from the ground and the familiar jolting sensation of running resumed as Cato carried him. Peeta could see out his one good eye that the swirling mass of poisonous fog was just behind them, licking at their heels. It swirled and amassed behind them greedy for their pain. They were almost out of time.

"Ah, fuck!" Cato cussed as he stumbled down on one knee.

Peeta looked up into his chocolate eyes and saw the struggle playing out across his face as he tried to push himself back up. His muscles were beginning to give out too. Everything stung. The sickly sweet smell burned his nostrils.

"You can do it Cato. I believe in you."

With a forceful grunt Cato managed to get back on his feet and they stumbled through the forest. The ground began leveling out until they finally broke through the line of trees. Cato didn't see the heap of bodies in time and he tripped over Finnick and Prim, sending Peeta sprawling across the sandy beach.

Everyone groaned in pain and exhaustion. They had no energy left. The fog had sapped the life right out of them. He could feel his legs and toes twitching of their own accord, but his hand was suddenly submerged in warm water as the ocean lapped up against the beach and his sprawled out arm. It stung something fierce and he wanted to pull it free. The salt water wasn't helping his wounds, but then just as quickly it started to feel better. He looked up and saw thin wisps of smoke seeping from his pores. The water drew the poison out!

A look behind Peeta also revealed that the smoke had stopped. It was like it had run into an invisible wall and was piling up behind it thick and heavy with nowhere to go. If it were possible for fog to have an expression Peeta would have said it looked disappointed.

"It's stopped!" Peeta shouted.

Finnick's head popped up, covered in sand, and he looked behind him to witness the miracle. Either the Gamemakers had decided to give them a reprieve or it had reached the end of its area.

"Come to the water you guys, it draws out the poison."

Everyone slowly dragged their bodies the few remaining feet to the water then hissed and sighed in equal measures of pain and relief as the warm salt water drew out the chemicals. If the water healed them it seemed to completely rejuvenate Finnick. Soon he was diving in and out of the water like some sea critter, submerging so long that at points Peeta thought he might have drowned. Each time he reappeared Prim would clap and giggle like it was the best show she'd seen. Soon Cato and Peeta joined in with her. They were alive and it felt great.

The fog behind them began to rise up along its barrier and dissipate into the night air like a vacuum had suddenly turned on and sucked away all the poisonous mist. The forest returned to normal, but Peeta didn't trust it. His eyes scanned up and down along the curve of the beach until they caught movement. He saw further down to his right some type of animal hanging from the trees. He picked up his bow and arrow and moved in for a closer look.

They were monkeys. About half the size of a person with long club like arms and orange fuzzy hair. They swung from branch to branch and were congregating at the edge of the forest line. They watched Peeta's approach with a cold eye. He notched an arrow on his bow. One of those would make a great meal.

Suddenly all the monkeys began to howl menacingly. Their orange fur stood on end and they dispersed. They moved with preternatural speed and leapt unbelievable distances from tree-to-tree. They headed deeper into the forest until lost from sight. Peeta quickly unleashed a slew of arrows at the remaining monkeys, but he missed. A few embedded in the trunk of a tree.

"I think those were Mutts." Cato stated, coming to stand next to Peeta.

"Where do you think they went?" Peeta asked. He was perplexed by their behavior and why they stayed in the line of the trees, but never crossed over into the section of the forest where the fog had been. Maybe they were smart enough to know what was the fogs territory.

A bloodcurdling scream echoed from the depths of the forest along with a cacophony of ferocious howls and Peeta had his answer. The monkeys had gone to attack someone who had crossed into their terrain. By the sounds of it they were tearing her apart. Peeta cringed at the thought of being ripped apart by those monkeys' vicious limbs.

"I'm going to retrieve my arrows, cover me."

Peeta then ran forward to get the nearest arrow lodged in the trunk of a vine covered tree. The woman's screams were like nails on a chalkboard, grating at Peeta's ears and leaving a discomforting feeling in his stomach. Then just as suddenly as it began everything went quiet. There was something off about what had just happened, but Peeta quickly lost his train of thought when he pulled the arrow free of the tree trunk. It was wet to the touch.

"Peeta, I hear them in the trees! They might be coming back."

He placed the arrow in his sheath and abandoned the other two as he ran back with Cato to Prim and Finnick, who were watching them from the water's edge.

"The trees! They have water in them!" Peeta exclaimed with excitement.

"How do you know?" Prim asked.

"My arrow pierced a tree trunk and water leaked out." Peeta pulled from his breast pocket the metal object. "I knew I'd seen this before. It's a spile. It gets sap from trees, or water here I guess."

They quickly tested Peeta's theory on the nearest tree and rejoiced as water began to pour out of the small spout. They each took turns quenching their thirst. Then they decided to spend the rest of the night on the forests edge. They didn't want to head back into the jungle yet for shelter while it was still night, not trusting its safety. Peeta took first watch while the others drifted in and out of a restless sleep. Soon after the sun rose they heard a roar so loud and ferocious it set birds flying from their perches in the trees.

"What was that?" Peeta sat up and looked around for the source. "Another mutt?"

Cato was on watch now and he pointed across the beach with his sword at the opposing side of the Arena.

"Look, you see those trees shaking. Something big is over there."

"Then I say we give that place a wide berth."

Finnick sat up and wiped the sleepers from his eyes, also awoken by the wild roar of the beast.

"The jungle seems to be teaming with things waiting to kill us. We've got to figure this arena out." Cato said, using his sword to help him stand.

Everyone was still sore from the toxins last night and the lack of sleep. It was most obvious on Prim's face. She was already developing purple bags under her eyes. Peeta went to her and asked if she was doing okay.

"I'm fine."

Peeta stared at her.

"Seriously, Peeta. I'm okay. I'm not a baby."

"I never said that." Peeta ruffled her hair just to spite her and she slapped at his hand. He backed away laughing.

"I suggest we head back into the jungle now that its day light. Hike as high as we can and see if we can get a lay out of this Arena. Maybe it'll help us figure things out." Finnick offered. "Lets try the section of the forest where the monkeys were. They're gone now, but I think we could take them. I'd rather them than that damned fog again."

"At least they're something we can fight," Cato commented in agreement.

With everyone agreed Finnick caught a few fish for everyone to eat before they headed back into the jungle where they had witnessed the group of monkey muttations. It was hot and muggy within the confines of the jungle. Branches and vines reached down at all angles to impede their journey and annoying flies flitted around their heads, either drawn by the smell of their sweat or unleashed on them to annoy them to death. They never came across any of the monkey mutts during their journey, which Peeta was both thankful for and worried about.

Through out the day strange noises echoed across the Arena and at one point they heard the unmistakable sound of a rushing tidal wave. The sound of roaring water along with the booming snaps and cracks of breaking tree limbs echoed across the Arena as the wave crashed through the forest. Everyone paused and listened to the unstoppable force when— _BOOM!_  A cannon fire quickly ensued shaking everyone out of their reverie. Another tribute was now dead.

Peeta was left with a disconcerting feeling in the back of his mind like he was missing something. It was that feeling like there was something on the tip of his tongue but he couldn't name it. Something he had thought of earlier, or been on the verge of and then forgotten. It bothered him through out the day on their hike like the swarm of flies around his head. They heard the tolling of the bells and lighting again. All the different noises were off putting to say the least. Peeta never knew what was coming next. This whole Arena was a death trap. Peeta figured the audience had to be privy to the knowledge of the workings of this Arena. They were probably screaming in frustration at their televisions for them to figure it out all ready, but the truth of it eluded them.

Finnick decided they had hiked far enough inland and began to climb a large knotted tree swamped with vines. Prim was tired and so she plopped down on a tree root nearby, working to screw the spile into the trunk for a much needed water break. Cato joined her while Peeta waited anxiously at the base for a report.

"The whole Arena is like a giant circle with the beach and Cornucopia at its Center!" Finnick called down from the treetop. "The only other landmark I can see is a giant charred tree in the distance and the spot on the beach where that tidal wave must have crashed through."

Like a slap to the face Peeta suddenly realized it. What he had forgotten early in the morning, what was off and had been bugging him. The cannons!

"Finnick, do you remember that guy last night?" Peeta called up to him.

"Yeah," Finnick grunted. He could hear Finnick beginning his climb back down to them. Bark and dead leaves rained down upon him on the ground. He shielded his eyes as he called back up to him.

"Why—" Peeta broke off when he heard more tree limbs being shaken and displaced. Leaves, twigs and chips of bark scattered down from the thick canopy all around them. They were coming from all directions. "Oh my god, get down now!"

"The mutts!" Cato roared and unsheathed his sword, spinning around and chopping a monkey in half with one fell swoop as it leapt from the tree directly behind them.

Suddenly they were everywhere—at least a dozen of the vicious beasts if not more. They were howling like deranged humans and hacking at them with razor sharp claws on their club like arms.

Prim screamed as one dove from the tree above her, straight at her head. All it's teeth were bared and it was going straight for her neck. Peeta notched a bow and loosened it in a fraction of a second, nailing it between the eyes. It fell lifeless atop her.

Finnick landed with a hard thud right in front of her, a monkey attached to his back and biting into his shoulder. Peeta aimed another arrow at that muttation and hit it in the back, right through the heart.

"Get Prim, put her in the center of us!" Peeta ordered.

Finnick didn't waist time. He ripped Prim from her spot on the ground and dashed with her over to Peeta and Cato. She was placed in the center of them and they fanned out around her in a defensive circle. Cato hacked and chopped with his sword, now covered in goopy red blood and tufts of orange fur. Peeta fired his bow left and right, aiming for hearts and eyes. But there were too many of them and they were fast as lightning. The mutts figured out they couldn't attack from the sides so they started to come down from above them.

"Look out!" Prim screamed in warning and Peeta looked up just in time to see a mutt launching straight down atop him with its claws and bloody fangs bared. He moved to turn his bow up to take it down, but there wasn't enough time. Then suddenly it howled in pain and rolled in the air to the left, landing before him dead. There was a small knife protruding from the side of its skull. Peeta whipped to look at Prim. She shrugged and then began chucking more of the knives with an expert eye.

"There's too many!" Finnick shouted.

"We can't take them—AH!" Cato cried in pain.

A mutt had launched itself atop him and was now laying into him with its claws. They shredded right through his spandex jumpsuit and tore at his flesh. With out thinking Peeta tore the knife from the dead mutts head in front of him and dove at the thing on Cato. He knocked it from atop him and they went tumbling across the jungle floor. The monkey's jaw was inches from his face, snapping violently. Its foul breath smelled of rotted flesh. Peeta was using all the strength he had to hold it back with his left arm out in a defensive position. Then he brought the knife in his right hand up into its chin, killing it instantly.

When he stood up he saw the monkeys had separated the others from each other, Cato and Prim were still relatively close together, but Finnick had been pulled off to the side and Peeta was furthest from any of them now. Suddenly three more monkey mutts flanked him from the left as he tried to rejoin the fray. He loosened more arrows at them but they were too quick, dodging them with ease.

"Run!" Finnick cried. "We can't fight them all, run!"

Peeta abandoned the fight with the approaching mutts and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He noticed a shimmer in front of him, but he could feel the breath of the mutts hot on his tale and didn't think about it.

"PEETA, STOP!"

But it was too late. What ever Finnick had been trying to warn him about was lost because Peeta had just run into what felt like a brick wall. There was sound like a lightning bolt striking a tree and the smell of burnt hair before everything went black.

* * *

" _PEETA, STOP!"_

The shout of warning was different then all the other cries since the mutts attacked. Finnick's voice was panicked. It struck a chord in Cato that set of a reaction he hadn't had since they were in the games last time. Peeta was in danger—more so than just now with the mutts.

Cato threw a powerful kick at the nearest on coming monkey and it yelped in pain. He felt bone crack against his foot. Then he whirled around, sword at the ready to attack whom or whatever was threatening Peeta. That's when he saw him run into something he couldn't explain. He just smashed into thin air like it was a plate of glass. Then Cato noticed a shimmer that shot up the invisible glass encasing or whatever it was and a loud  _crack_  emitted before Peeta was blown backwards.

Everything seemed to stop. Even the mutts were startled by the sound released by the barrier. Cato wasted no time. He ran straight for Peeta lopping and chopping at the monkeys within reach. He killed one more, but the rest dispersed into the trees for some reason. Almost as if they had all been called back into the wild at the same time by their master—the Gamemakers probably.

"Peeta! Peeta!"

It was a chorus of Peeta's name. Everyone was shouting it and there was no response to be had. Cato reached him first and threw himself beside Peeta, feeling him all over for a wound. Something, anything that he could find to fix and make him better. But he wasn't just unconscious, he wasn't breathing!

"He's not breathing! Fuck! FUCK! His hearts stopped!" Cato listened against his chest cavity and he heard nothing, just deafening silence.

Panic flooded him system like a morphling drip to his veins. It was all he could feel. His heart was on fire and on the verge of burning a hole through his shredded chest. Prim and Finnick gathered around Peeta and a sudden bout of guilt hit Cato in the face like an attacking mutt because he realized he'd just abandoned Prim. If anything had happened to her and Peeta found out he'd never forgive him. But right now Peeta needed to be breathing to be angry.

"Step back. Give me room!" Finnick demanded. His tone was serious and his pretty boy features were now hardened as he crowded over Peeta's lifeless body on the ground.

Prim started whimpering and Cato reached out hand, putting it on her shoulder. Her small body was trembling as Finnick suddenly leaned in to kiss Peeta.

"Woah! What the fuck?" Cato roared as he gripped Finnick by the back of his collar and ripped him off Peeta. He knew not to trust the pretty boy from Four. "I said help him, not fucking molest him!"

Finnick pushed back at Cato, right against his slashed chest, and he stumbled backwards. Finnick's chest was puffed out and his green eyes flashed in warning.

"I am trying to help him and I suggest you back off before it's too late."

Ignoring the throbbing in his chest Cato moved forward to watch Finnick closely as he went back to press his lips against Peeta's. But this time Cato noticed he wasn't kissing him, he was pushing air into his opened mouth. Then Finnick laid his hands atop the center of Peeta's chest and started doing compressions. He was counting softly under his breath before stopping and going back to pushing air in his lungs.

The seconds moved at an agonizingly slow pace. Cato had tunnel vision and all he could see was Peeta's face, pale and unmoving. It wasn't natural. His face was usually full of so much color and life. It was his favorite thing to look at. He could spend days studying Peeta's face. Learning and cataloguing all the different expressions it made. All of a sudden Peeta's body shot up with a gasp, air sucked in to refill his lungs, before he collapsed back against the dirt.

"Oh!" Prim squeaked in shock, jumping back behind Cato.

Cato collapsed to his knees in front of Peeta and gripped his hand in his. His chest was now breathing normally, rising and falling in a normal rhythm, but he remained unconscious.

"What's wrong with him?" Cato asked of Finnick, but his knitted brows and confused eyes revealed he knew just as little as Cato.

"Peeta? Peeta?" Cato began to shake Peeta, but his body just slumped and rolled with the movements like a ragdoll. If his chest weren't moving with silent breaths Cato would fear the worst again. But maybe it was something else…

"His pacemaker!" Prim exclaimed, "What—what if whatever he ran into broke it!"

His blood ran cold at that thought. They were trapped in the middle of an unforgiving jungle with no access to medical supplies. If his pacemaker truly had given out then it was only a matter of minutes before his heart gave out. He couldn't voice those thoughts though. It was unimaginable.

"No, I hear his heartbeat. It's going steady." Finnick said with one ear against Peeta's chest. Then he sat back on his haunches, hands placed on either hip as he analyzed Peeta. "It's like he's—"

"Comatose." Cato finished for him gravely.

He stood up and kicked out at the dirt. He wished those mutts where still here because he had a bloodlust building in him like a growing fire and it needed release. This couldn't be happening, not again. He was barely strong enough to make it through the last time. Peeta couldn't keep doing this to him!

"We need to find shelter. Wait it out and hopefu—" Finnick dropped off in the middle of his sentence, his head cocked to the left.

Cato's whole body tensed. He was on high alert for anything now and then he spotted it through a clearing of two trees to his right, charging them with weapons at the ready. Asasia had the lead, flanked on either side by Cashmere and Gloss. Cato raised his sword ready for the next fight when suddenly Primrose let loose a shriek in warning and Cato was tackled to the ground from behind. His sword knocked from his hands.

They fell to the ground and Cato's chin hit the earth first, disorienting him. He thought he heard Prim say something, but then Finnick ordered her to hold her ground. Something about protecting Peeta. Yes, that was all that mattered.

"You're screams lead us right to you, Ryves."

It was Enobaria's rusted voice. She spoke directly into Cato's ear, the tip of her pointed teeth just grazing along his helix. Enobaria had one hand on the back of his head, pressing it hard into the dirt, with both her thighs planted firmly on either side of his back holding him down.

"What happened to your boyfriend?" Enobaria huffed a laugh. He could see Finnick and Prim holding defensive positions in front of Peeta while the other Career's stalked in front of them in a stand off. "Did his weak heart finally give out? That's a shame, Asasia won't be happy. But at least I still get mine."

She bit down on Cato's ear and he roared in pain. Her razor teeth pierced right through the soft cartilage of his ear, mangling it. Hot blood trickled down his face and into his left eye, blurring his vision. He could see out of the peripheral of his right eye when Cashmere and Gloss finally attacked Prim and Finnick while Asasia circled, ready to go in on Peeta once he was left out in the open. The rage inside him finally boiled over and at the perfect moment. Enobaria let loose a wild scream and her grip on him loosened. Cato pushed off the ground with all his strength, swinging an elbow behind him and connecting it with Enobaria's ribs. She howled and rolled off Cato. He shot up, gave a swift kick to Enobaria's head that knocked her sprawling on her back and he noticed the small knife embedded in the side of her breast courtesy of Prim. He scrambled for his sword before diving in front of Finnick's body, bringing his sword to clash with Gloss' in a harsh screech of metal.

"Get Peeta to safety!" Cato roared at a confused Finnick. Finnick's eyes flicked about, taking in the scene before him. He realized their odds weren't pretty.

"Don't you dare fucking try to stay and help!" Cato warned, parrying backwards and hitting him with his hip as he swung the sword around and went for Gloss' exposed left arm. Finnick understood and he turned to run and grab Peeta.

"No you don't!" Asasia yelled as she finally joined the fray charging Peeta's motionless body. Luckily Finnick was faster and he'd scooped Peeta up in his arms and took off down the hill as Asasia's spiked club thudded against the dirt where Peeta had just been lying. Cato breathed a little easier and went at Gloss with renewed vigor.

To Peeta's left Prim danced in circles with Cashmere, both of them holding small sharp and deadly knives in each clenched fist. Prim's face looked nothing other than determined as she faced off with the brutal beauty from one.

"It's such a shame to take the life of someone so young and pretty," Cashmere cooed at Prim. "But that's life for you." She shrugged then ran at Prim, slashing wildly with her nimble arms.

Cato locked swords with Gloss and then shoved him backwards. He had to get to Prim. With Peeta safely out of the picture his next task was only finding safety for her too now. But Gloss wasn't stupid. He kept on Cato hard, never giving him an inch of space or a free moment to escape towards her with out inflicting serious harm to his body. Prim suddenly cried out in terrible pain and he made the mistake of turning to look at her. Gloss bashed the butt of his sword into the side of Cato's jaw, sending him spiraling. Gloss then caught him and held him hostage, sword against his throat.

"You're gonna want to watch this," Gloss gloated.

Struggling frenetically, Cato felt the blade of the sword slip against the skin of his neck and more blood trailed down to his chest, joining the old. Everything on him was bruised and sore, but he couldn't just stand and watch as Cashmere lashed at Prim. Primrose was fast but tiring. There was a cut to her arm and one across her abdomen, but she kept her feet moving fast and quick and Cashmere hadn't been able to land a killing blow. Yet.

Then Asasia came in from the right and suddenly Prim was helpless as the brutish female from Four took her captive. Cashmere giggled like some twisted schoolgirl, twirling the blade between her fingers. Cato searched for Enobaria, but she was unconscious on the ground where he'd left her thankfully.

"I think I'll cut your throat. Nice and slow. You'll really get the full experience as your life slips from your body," Cashmere gloated.

"Oh just do it already or I'll snap her fucking neck," Asasia barked.

" _Please_ …" Prim whimpered.

"NO! No, kill me! Let her go and just kill me instead!" Cato begged.

"Shut up." Gloss warned, tightening the sword against his neck further.

Cato gasped in pain, but it was nothing compared to the anguish that lanced through his body at the thought of Prim dying right before his eyes. For a brief second he was transported back home, to District Two. When an angry mob of his enemies was descending on him and the last thing he saw before blacking out was the cold fear in his little sister's eyes.

"Prim, Prim! It's gonna be okay!" Cato shouted. He knew it wouldn't be, but if he could help her find comfort in these last few moments then maybe it would be...

"J-just close your eyes and think of home!"

Prim's olive eyes were filled with fear. She looked at Cato, at all the blood and bruises covering his body and knew all hope was lost. And so she closed her eyes, just like he said. A foul smirk slid across Asasia's face as Cashmere lifter her blade, ready to slash it across Primrose's pale, delicate neck.

"NOOO!" Cato screamed as Cashmere sliced out at Prim's exposed throat.

In the flash of an eye a body launched forth from the foliage. No two. Cato's eyes watched in stunned fascination as the two morphlings from Six dashed into the center of the fray. The girl caught Cashmere's arm just in time—stopping it mere inches from Prim's throat—and she bit into the flesh of her forearm.

Cashmere let out a piercing scream and Gloss roared in rage, completely forgetting about Cato and rushing to her aide as the male morphling took a small stick he'd whittled to a point and jabbed it through Cashmere's neck. Arterial blood sprayed everywhere from Cashmere's neck. The stick must have pierced a main artery. She'd bleed out in seconds, gurgling and choking on her blood. Gloss snarled in pain as he charged forward, like he too had been stabbed in the neck before hacking with the sword. In one powerful swing he decapitated the male morphling.  _BOOM!_  A cannon sounded.

"Cashmie! Cashmie!" Gloss chanted in numb pain.

Asasia threw Prim to the ground and lifted her club, ready to finish what Cashmere couldn't when— _BOOM—_ the cannon sounded again. Cashmere was dead and Gloss was howling like a dog. Cato swooped in, lifting Prim into his arms and took off into the jungle before Asasia had time to figure out what had just happened.

Prim sobbed into his shoulder, her hands clawing into his back, as he raced away from the scene of the carnage. The last thing they heard was one more resounding  _BOOM,_ most likely marking the death of the female morphling, before all he could hear was the sound of his ravaged breath and his feet pounding against the earth.


	17. What I know of Love

Ch. 17- What I know of Love

_Thwump._

_Thwump, thwump._

_Thwump._

That beat. No, that pulse. It sounded like his heart was beating in his ears. He'd been gone from it for so long that coming back to it now it felt different. Like his heart was beating in a different way. The pace of it. The sound of it— _thwump_. His whole body swayed in and out of being like fog sifting through a screen. The sound— _thwump, thwump_ —it was the only thing he could lock on to.

Slowly, excruciatingly slow, Peeta's senses returned to him. It was like his body was trapped—frozen and suspended in space and time. His mind had awakened, but his body was not his own. Something else was in control. He wrestled against the dark. He fought for the control he'd lost. To at least be able to open his eyes and see, to escape from the dark prison of his mind because suddenly everything in him was screaming. A thousand screams or one scream echoing on into forever, he didn't know. There had been mutts. Slashing. Clawing. Biting. Everywhere. They were overwhelmed.

Anger—pulsing, burning, red-hot rage. It coursed through his body, infiltrating even the smallest molecule of his being until there was nothing left to feel but hate and pain and the need to kill, to maim. He needed to kill those mutts. They would die for what they did. No muttation would be safe.

_Thwump, thwump!_

And just like that it was over. Like the press of a button, everything was released and he was slammed back into his body with the force of a bullet to the brain. He opened his eyes and everything was green and spinning, a terrible vortex of green. He tried sitting up and hissed in pain. His muscles were stiff and cramped. He groaned and managed to get enough energy to roll onto his side. Now everything was brown dirt and dead leaves and vines. They still spun unsettlingly. If things didn't stop spinning soon he'd—

His stomach convulsed, tightening and loosening in rapid succession. His throat burned and then his stomach was purged of its contents: mostly bile and foam. There was nothing else inside him to give. It soaked into the detritus of the forest floor, the foam bubbling and popping before his eyes. The smell of it stung at his nostrils.

"It's okay, Peeta. Get it all out. You're safe. You just need something to drink and eat, here sit up."

It was Finnick. His voice was strained with tiredness, but most of all it sounded tremendously relieved. Peeta's vision swirled again as hands helped lift his back up into a sitting position. Now he realized why everything was so green. They were in a hut made of vibrant green vines and giant palm fronds. The sun hit them from the outside and lit them up like neon city lights. A coconut half was brought to his lips, but it was filled with cool water. He gulped it down greedily, letting it cool and soothe his angry throat and mutinous stomach. Then a piece of fried something or other was offered to him and he ate it happily, not caring what creature he was devouring as long as it gave him sustenance.

The dizzy spell slowly dissipated and he was left feeling achy and sore all over, but for the most part wholly intact and alive. They sat in silence for a bit as Peeta came back to himself. But the longer they sat there the more obvious it became that something was off.

"Wh'appened?" Peeta croaked. It felt like he was trying to talk for the first time in his life and his lips and tongue didn't know how to form the words properly.

Finnick's brilliant green eyes shifted about. Peeta felt the anxiety beginning to build up again. He was just now remembering how things had left off. How they were in the Quarter Quell.

"Well… There's no easy way to say it, so I'm just going to tell you." Finnick pushed more water on Peeta before continuing, but he found he couldn't swallow at the moment. "You ran into the force field that rings the perimeter of the Arena. It almost killed you. You've been unconscious for the better part of three days. I'm still not sure why…"

Finnick must have been ready for it because Peeta flailed, trying to stand, crying out in anger, but Finnick's arms locked onto his biceps and held him firmly against the ground.

"C-ATO? Pr-im!" Peeta coughed out their names. "Where are they?  _Where are they Finnick_?"

"Calm down, you need to go slow or you'll hurt yourself." Finnick stayed utterly calm and collected, despite Peeta's hysterics.

"Fuck myself. What of the others?"

"They're alive."

Peeta searched his eyes and found no lies. Only truth. He nodded and sat back and let Finnick continue for the moment. He was still tired.

"The mutt's disappeared and I had to do CPR to revive you." Peeta must have given a look because he explained. "It's basically a method to keep your heart beating and your lungs breathing. It worked and then we were attacked. The careers must have been close and heard our fight with the mutts. Cato demanded I take you and run because you were still unconscious and so I did. I didn't want to leave them, but we couldn't protect you and fight all of them. I don't know what happened after I took off, but I know Cashmere and the two morphling addicts from Six died. Prim and Cato are alive, I just don't know where…" Finnick trailed off for a second before reconnecting eyes with Peeta. "And there's something else. I've heard more deaths, screams and such, but there are never any cannons following them nor pictures in the night sky. People are dying in here with us and they didn't come here as tributes."

A little thought that had been tugging at the back of his brain trying to get his attention finally had it. "I noticed that!" Peeta exclaimed and then fell into a coughing spell. Finnick handed him more water and he drank it before continuing.

"The man who died last—well a few nights ago in the fog, there was no cannon. It bothered me then, but I couldn't place why. Then the same thing happened with the person attacked by the monkey mutts. Why was there no cannon? Why didn't we recognize that man?"

"I haven't a clue. Only tributes should be in here."

They sat in silence contemplating the newest mystery before them. Who were these people? Were they trying to break into the Arena or were they already here and by accident trapped inside? Every idea seemed as unlikely as the next and yet there was no denying people were dying inside the Arena and they weren't tributes. Peeta realized how easily he could have been just another dead tribute by now if it weren't for Finnick.

"I—thank you, Finnick." Peeta interrupted the silence. "That's three times now you've saved my life."

He tried to convey through his eyes that he really meant it. Finnick now had his full trust. He knew there wasn't anything he could do in return for him, but he could at least trust he wouldn't turn on Peeta and try to kill him or the people he loved. He'd had the chance plenty of times.

"Don't worry about it." Finnick shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe it's what I'm supposed to do."

With a swift push off the ground Finnick pulled up on his feet and exited the hut leaving Peeta to interpret what he'd just said. Was he just playing it off as no big deal, discomforted by the gratitude or was there some other agenda he didn't know of? Now that Peeta thought about it all of his actions since he met Finnick didn't really seem to make sense. They'd never met before, yet Finnick had put his neck on the line for Peeta's sake on too many occasions to count.

Peeta decided to follow him out of the shelter. He'd been out for three days and he was tired of being stationary. His ankles cracked and his bones groaned under the weight of his body, but he managed to make his way out with out falling over. A victory if anyone asked him. He spotted his bow and arrow on the ground and was thankful to see it had made it with him.

This section of the jungle was flatter than the rest. It might have been a valley or basin of some sort, but Peeta didn't know much about topography to guess. Finnick was putting together a pack of supplies in a netted rope of vines he had constructed while Peeta took in his surroundings.

"So what all's happened while I was out?"

"Not much. Both tributes from Eleven died, Chaff and Seeder. Who knows what got them though, the jungle or a tribute." Finnick looked up and around at the jungle suspiciously. "We should get a move on though, before our section activates."

Peeta looked around at the forest in confusion. "Our section?"

"Let's move out, look for the others and then I'll explain."

While unsure if he was ready for a long hike through the humid jungle Peeta knew there was no other choice than to throw himself back into it. This was the Hunger Games and it didn't wait for anyone. Besides Peeta was more than anxious to find Cato and Prim. He was sure the audience felt the same. If only they could ask them where the others were. The longer they were separated the more chance there was of something happening to them and Peeta wasn't about to let that happen. So he retrieved his bow and arrows and slung them over his back. Then looking around he realized that was all he had. He didn't even have the spile. The last he remembered of it Prim had it. He hoped she still did.

"Ready?"

"Ready." Peeta replied and then fell in line behind Finnick as he led them on the search for Cato and Prim.

In the netted sack Finnick had made Peeta could see the two halves of a coconut he had been using to hold water, some more coiled rope he'd made from vines, and leftovers of what ever creature he had cooked up that morning wrapped in leaves. It wasn't much, but it was a hell of a lot better than nothing. Finnick marched forward determinedly, his trident always at the ready. Peeta figured he was probably leading them back to the beach where they could re-orient themselves and begin a proper search.

The more he thought of it the more daunted Peeta became by the task ahead. This arena was huge and filled with deadly Gamemaker designed traps at every turn. What if they were holed up in a cave somewhere like Peeta had done with Cato last year? God how he yearned for simpler times like then. When it was just the two of them. All they had was each other and that was all they needed. And wasn't that a fucked up thought? When the 74th Hunger Games was actually a refuge compared to now. Everything was so infinitely more complicated now. So much more was at stake. What if they walked right past each other, separated by the dense foliage? The search might never end… until they ran into Asasia.

Peeta could hear the pace of his heart ramping up the more he thought of it. The dull  _thwump, thwump_  grew inside his head until he was trapped by the sound of it. It echoed around his skull like the insistent beat of tribal drums in a sealed cavern. The sound just bounced around endless, building and building. His feet stopped moving and the world shifted. Everything turned muted and dull like the changing of a lens. Then he moved again. He moved forward with purpose. The muscles of his abdomen clenched and unclenched. His hands fisted. His feet padded silently against the soft spongy earth of the forest floor. A bug buzzed past his left ear.

There was nothing ahead, nothing behind. Only progress. March forward. March on. Feel the workings of his muscles. Know how the power they held with in could end a life as easy as squashing an insect. His eyes locked onto a figure ahead of him. He analyzed it closely. There was a healing wound on its shoulder. A bite mark almost, other minor scrapes and bruises, but his eyes honed in on the clearly pulsating vein on the side of its neck. Each beat an invocation of his name.

The figure ahead stopped walking and turned around and suddenly all that anger and rage was back ten-fold. It had been pressure-cooking in his stomach and now exploded forth and turned him hot all over like a furnace. The figure spoke a name— _Peeta_ —but it wasn't a man. It was a muttation. The face was warped and disfigured. Whiskers sprouted from the snout nose and lips peeled back to reveal slimy fangs, but it was the eyes, those sea green eyes that held an almost human-like intelligence that enraged him most.

Kill.

Kill.

Kill…

"What's wrong with you?" Finnick broke through, reaching forward with a hand.

"Don't!" Peeta shouted and jumped backwards, tripping and landing on his ass.

He was on the verge of hyperventilating. He rubbed his eyes and then looked at Finnick's worried face one more time. But it was the same as it had always been. Perfectly placed cheekbones, smooth jaw, windswept dirty blonde locks, staggering green eyes. He shook his head hoping to clear it.  _Breath, just breath Peeta._ He focused on his breaths and felt his heart rate fall back into a normal range.

"Peeta?" Finnick asked, dripping with worry and maybe something else. Hesitation? "Is it your heart? Your head? Tell me."

He leaned in again towards Peeta and this time he let him. Peeta took his outstretched hand and jumped back on his feet. Finnick examined him from head to toe with his eyes.

"Sorry, I'm not sure what just happened. Just got a little disoriented." Peeta tried to explain, but he didn't know what  _to_  explain. He was scared and he didn't know what of.

It wasn't right, but there wasn't time to think about it because suddenly the jungle came alive. The rustling of leaves all around them put Peeta on high alert. Peeta strung an arrow, expecting more monkey-like mutations, but nothing came at them from the trees.

"We're out of time." Finnick stated. He seemed resigned to the fact, but not overly worried.

Peeta was about to ask what was up when suddenly he heard Gale's voice. The bow dropped from his hands to the jungle floor.

"Peeta, help! Help me!" Gale's deep and normally soothing voice was ragged and broken. He was on his last legs and begging. " _Please_ , make it stop! Just make it end—AHHHH!"

"GALE?" Peeta screamed out in return.

Every muscle was tense. His eyes darted in every direction trying to discern where it was coming from, but his voice seemed to be all around.  _My god, what are the Gamemakers playing at?_  Peeta thought horrified. Was this it? They were sending in tributes loved ones to die in the Arena with them?

"It's okay Peeta, it's not him."

"Finny? Finny where are you?" Suddenly a woman's voice joined in with Gale's and Finnick visibly paled, his normally glowing tanned skin turned sickly white.

"ARRGHHH!" Gale's cry echoed out across the forest and then the female's screech joined in. She was hollering for Finnick. Peeta spun on the spot to face him and saw his face pinched in pain and yet he was doing nothing.

"What do you mean it's not him? I hear him, we have to do something!" Peeta was about to run off when Finnick shouted back.

"No we don't because its jabberjays! Another trick of the arena." Finnick pulled Peeta back before he ran off into the wild and got lost. "Look, up, in the trees. There. You see?"

Following the line of sight from Finnick's pointed index finger Peeta spotted the little black birds with white crested chest's perched all along the branches of the trees above them. They all had their black orb eyes trained on the tributes below them as they spouted memorized human speech. But even if it wasn't really Gale's voice he was terrified to think how they came to know his voice. Something terrible had happened. Peeta was sure of it. And worse still now the audience had more evidence that this Gale was more important that he wanted to let on.

"The sun's set and the monsters are coming. I need you, Finny!" The woman shouted. It was disorienting to watch a particular bird's beak move and a human voice fall out. "You promised you'd always be there!"

The blood had come back to Finnick's face, but there was a visible twitch to his eye and a hunched demeanor that told Peeta whoever's voice that was it was causing him just as much pain as it was for Peeta to hear Gale's tortured cries.

"We need to get out of here," Peeta said. He'd had enough. He wouldn't sit here and subject himself to the sounds of his friend's torture. Not only where their physical terrors in this forest, but psychological ones as well.

"We can't. They'll just follow us to the edge of the section where we will be trapped by an invisible barrier. It was the safest area I could find for us. At least the birds don't attack us." Finnick explained dejectedly.

He dropped to the ground, resigned to their predicament. Peeta had an inkling that he had been through this many times now. Peeta took a seat across from him and tried to ignore the newest voices that joined the chorus. One of them was his dad, the others were unknown to him, but they most definitely meant something to Finnick.

"I think I've figured it out though." Finnick suddenly spoke some time later.

"Huh?" Peeta looked up from picking at his nails.

"This Arena is broken up into sections; each one with some deadly trick or mind-game. This one activates almost exactly every twelve hours. I've been here three days now so I've had time to count the hours. I've heard the other one's trigger at varying intervals too."

Suddenly Peeta understood.  _It begins at midnight._

"It's a clock!"

With his finger Peeta traced a circle in the dirt between them and drew twelve spokes, just like the sand spokes that spread out from the Cornucopia at the center of the Arena.

"Each section must be like a section of the clock and so each one is triggered when it reaches that time of day. Like the lightning and storm," Peeta pointed at a section of the clock, "And then it leads in to the fog and monkey mutts and so forth."

Finnick scratched the bottom of his chin before nodding. "It's not that far of a leap actually. There's always a bell that tolls at what's probably midnight and noon. It tolls twelve times followed by a strike of lightning to that big burnt tree. That must be the start of the clock. Maybe we can use that to our advantage—"

"FINNICK!" The woman suddenly interrupted with a torturous scream and Finnick twitched before completely withdrawing back in on himself.

Gale and his father's voice grew louder too and with their conversation now ruined Peeta couldn't drown them out. Each scream, each pleading word was like an icy knife to the heart. Peeta could see Finnick was dealing with it just as well as he was. His face was twisted in agony like he was the one being tortured. Veins bulged from his temple as everything in him strained against the psychological pain being inflicted upon them. Reaching out, Peeta laid a hand atop Finnick's clamped fist. His eyes suddenly darted to look at Peeta; wide and terrified like an abused dog. The usually vibrant sea green eyes of his were muted and muddy. Then he took a deep breath and let it all out, his hand unclenching to accept Peeta's into his palm. They held on to each other tight. This was their grounding. They would help and hold each other through this because otherwise it would drive him insane. They weren't alone for this. They didn't have to suffer in isolation in their minds.

Peeta wasn't sure how Finnick did this the past three days with out him. They spent the next half hour sitting in silence. Except for the Jabberjays. Every now and then a particularly brutal scream or heart wrenching plead would escape from the Jabberjay's beaks and they'd flinch anew. But they still held each other's hand, knowing there had to be an end. That it wasn't real. This was though, the hand they held was real and they were here for each other.

"You know what I know of love?" Finnick asked out of the blue.

Hearing his voice was almost like a shock to the system and he almost let go of Finnick's hand. They hadn't talked in so long, trapped in their minds with the sick soundtrack of Jabberjays the only noise they could hear.

"What are you talking about?" Peeta asked confused.

"You asked me the other night what I knew of love," Said Finnick. He wasn't looking at Peeta, but up into the trees. Peeta watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "Well I do know a few things about it, which I know must truly shock you." His words were heavy with sarcasm and Peeta's hand felt hot and clammy in Finnick's palm. His eyes were still trained on the trees above, the Jabberjays in particular. Peeta had an inkling that the person he was talking of might be one of the voices they were imitating. Finnick was being vague in hopes that he could still protect her identity from the audience, but it seemed like the Capitol already knew anyways.

"Finny I needed you," the familiar female's voice sobbed from a Jabberjay and Finnick finally let go of Peeta's hand, his eyes falling back to the earth.

"I know love isn't always rational. I know it can span time and place and if you feel it, if you  _truly_  feel it and know they're the one then nothing will keep you apart. You will always be together, connected, even when hundreds of miles separate you, even when your realities keep you apart..."

Finnick was drawing the image of a woman in the dirt with his fingers, tracing lovingly the pattern of her hair as it fell across her face. Peeta watched Finnick as he talked and felt inside him just how much he wished he could be touching her hair. He began to seriously re-evaluate the impression he had of Finnick. He was so much more than the sexualized joker he liked to play. And maybe Peeta was beginning to reevaluate some things about his love life…

"Because if you truly love someone its worth the fight. If it's true love its selfless. Everything you do suddenly stops being about you and starts becoming about them. How can I make life better for her? How can I always make sure she knows she's loved? How can I—"

BOOM!

The cannon fire jolted both of them to their feet, weapons at the ready. Peeta notched an arrow in his bow and they fell back-to-back, just in case someone else was trapped in the section with them. There would be no sneak attacks today.

Then they realized everything had been quiet for a few minutes now and Peeta realized they were finally free of the Jabberjays. The time must have finally run out for their section. Finnick noticed it too.

"Come on we're not far from the beach now."

They both took off at a light jog towards the beach and Cornucopia. In reality only a couple of hours had passed since he had woken and yet it felt like so much more. He had come to a new understanding of Finnick, figured out the configuration of the Arena, learned people in here are dying and they aren't tributes, and worst of all something might be wrong with him. Was it a hallucination or something else when he saw Finnick as a muttation?

As they jogged through the jungle the only sound that kept them company was the pad of their feet against the earth and their breath. But the earth-quaking roar that unexpectedly ripped through the forest shattered that peace. They both halted in their tracks and looked in the direction of the roar. The next section of the clock was triggered. They'd heard that beastly roar before, but this time they were much closer to the source and it set Peeta's nerves on fire. There were too many obstacles in this Arena. How were they expected to overcome them all and become victor? How was Peeta supposed to guarantee any of his loved one's safety to the end of the games? And now with his sanity in question the quest seemed even more insurmountable. He just needed to find Cato. Out of anyone he could possibly understand. He had struggled against the more brutal aspects of his personality to become the man Peeta fell in love with so maybe he could help Peeta fight this too.

They picked up their speed and ran until suddenly they burst through the dense green foliage onto the beach. The sun was beginning to set behind them and Peeta grew more frightful at the prospects of finding Cato and Prim. Another roar shook the jungle just to their left and more birds took flight in the distance, frightened by the beast. Peeta could only imagine what was contained within the depths of that jungle section.

Just as he was about to ask where they start they heard screaming. It was coming from the opposing side of the beach. There was a lot of commotion and it sounded like it was just at the edge of the jungle. They weren't close enough to make out the individual sounds, but a fierce battle raged just inside the tree line. They were shouting and grunting in exertion and fear. Peeta aimed is bow, ready to take out the next person that broke through the forest barrier to the beach when he heard it again.

"PEETA!"

It was Gale's voice. But the Jabberjay section was done. It didn't make sense. Finnick whipped around to look in the direction of the newest scream. He recognized the voice too after the hour they spent in the jungle listening to his tortured cries. And it came from the beast's section.

Suddenly a body breached the forest line on the other side of the beach where the battle raged and Peeta gasped.

It was Prim.

And she was drenched in blood.

"PEETA! HELP! HELP ME PEETA!" Gale's voice cried out in utter terror and Peeta knew in his heart the truth.

There Primrose stood on one side of the beach, covered down to her toes in dark red blood and then in the forest behind Peeta came the very real cries of help from Gale. Finnick locked eyes with Peeta and must have recognized something in Peeta's wild ones because he tried to lunge for Peeta, but he was too late. Peeta dodged him, knocking his leg out from under him and sending Finnick sprawling into the sand. Then Peeta took off at full sprint straight into the jungle behind them, the one that shook with the roars of the monstrous beast and Gale's screams.


	18. The Deepest Wound

Ch. 18- The Deepest Wound

The smell was the worst part, foul and rotten smelling like decaying flesh. Or maybe it was the fear. Though that had always been there, an ever-constant presence since the reaping. The hunger was pretty crappy too, but that was nothing new. Back home they had always been worried about where the next meal might come from, if at all. Maybe it was that tingling itch that cropped up all over her body, but could never be fully satisfied, not when she was caked in endless layers of blood so thick she feared her skin might be permanently stained red and a new layer could always be added at a moments notice.

Primrose hated how much she thought about it. The misery. She didn't want to let it affect her. She wanted to be stronger than that, so much stronger. For Peeta and her sister, Katniss. Even for Cato. But it was just so hard. Everything ached and smelled and was so brutal that sometimes in her mind she was just screaming as loud as she could until it was all she could hear, all she could think. It wasn't fair. None of this was. But that's the way things were she supposed, so she'd better suck it up and be a grown up, because things weren't going to get any easier.

Except this blood! It was so nauseating to be covered in blood. Whose or what she didn't know. Prim scrubbed at her arms with broken nails, trying to peel off the crusted on flakes of red, trying to get down to the itch deep in her skin, so deep in her that it felt like her bones might burst into flames if she didn't get to scratch it. Her hair cracked like the breaking of ceramic with the thick coagulated blood that drenched it. She didn't even feel like herself anymore. She couldn't still be Primrose Everdeen, the quiet little sister of Katniss, the one who had nightmares about their dad's coal mine explosion—and now ones of Katniss's death. She tried not to think about it, but the images never left her. Seeing her and Peeta fight for their lives on the screen against Clove and Stasson. How Clove nicked Peeta and he turned and killed her with the spear, lobbing it right through her soft stomach. Prim had wanted to look away but she'd already seen Stasson pick up one of the dropped knives and give an expert throw that hit Katniss in the back. Peeta didn't see it. Wouldn't see it until after all the fighting, but they knew. The audience knew and it was horrible.

Was that what it was like now, at home? Was her mother watching this through her fingers, terrified and knowing? Knowing what lurked out there in the other parts of the jungle? Knowing who was trailing whom? Had she seen the Careers closing in on them the other day? Had she known like Prim had that when Asasia and Cashmere held her that she was dead.

But then she wasn't. Prim couldn't have been happier to escape their clutches, but everything came at a cost. She was learning that now. The tributes from Six had given their lives for her. And why? Because she was nice to them at the camouflage station? Had they been so starved for human interaction that her treating them like normal human beings had meant so much as to sacrifice their selves for her?

Katniss had once told Prim that growing up was hard. That you had to learn to let go of all your preconceived notions because they were based on a child's naive notion of how the world worked. It hadn't really made sense at the time to Prim. How much could really change? She understood how the world worked. That there were terrible things that happened and no one could do anything about it like their father's death. But it wasn't until she lost her. Lost Katniss, her closest friend and confidant, that she learned just how brutal an awakening she was in for. Suddenly it felt like adulthood had been thrust upon her whether she was ready for it or not and now there was no turning back.

And so, after that stupid and childish act on the train to the Capitol Primrose had vowed to let go of her childhood and act like an adult. That was a child's way of handling a situation, thinking she could run. That jumping from the train was a plausible option. Now she was an adult and she would turn and face her problems. If Peeta could still walk into the Games with his head held high, after everything he's been through, then so could Prim.

It had been three days since they last saw Peeta. At least she thought so. It was hard to keep track of time. At least the blood rain helped. It always seemed to happen at the same time, twice a day. There would be some bells and lightning and then a little while later the skies would turn a dark purple and open up, pouring down upon them thick buckets of crimson red blood. No matter what she tried some of it still ended up in her mouth. The first few times she had gagged and vomited, not knowing what or whose blood she had ingested. But now she was morbidly resigned to the fact that the blood was everywhere and she barely registered it getting in her mouth or eyes.

Cato had worked to construct a canopy for them that would hide them from most of the rain in the beginning, but it still leaked through the cracks and ended up on them. And after an hour of constant blood rainfall the structure typically gave out and caved from the weight of the blood. So now they just suffered through the rain and kept vigilant for any approaching tributes.

At one point Prim had suggested they move on from here, but Cato would entertain no such idea. She could tell he was terrified for Peeta's well being and he was barely able to contain it, but he did so anyways. She knew the front he was putting on was all for her benefit. Cato wouldn't risk moving from the relative safety they had seemed to find in this section of the forest to find Finnick and Peeta if it meant putting Prim in danger. She hated feeling like such a burden to Cato. He had done nothing but try to help and protect her and yet here she was holding him back from finding his fiancé. Luckily they knew they were still alive since there faces hadn't shown up on the night sky yet. But that was little comfort during the day and the moments right before the nightly tribute were always the most tense as they waited to confirm their worst fear that the cannon fire earlier that day had really taken Peeta's life. It never was so far. But that moment felt like a cruel eternity as they both sat frozen, unable to speak or blink as they waited for the recap to begin.

They'd had very little to eat since they escaped the Careers. Cato had run with Prim in his arms until his legs gave out in exhaustion, which was in this very spot they still currently occupied. They hadn't seen any sign of the monkey mutts or the poisonous fog since arriving in this section. The blood had freaked them at first, but as it didn't harm them in any visible way Cato had decided they'd stay put, assuming it was the safest area to hide out for the time being. They were protected from view by the thickets of vines and wild jungle growth. But the blood rain seemed to drive most animals from this area of the forest and so food was scarce. Luckily Prim still had the spile so they could access fresh water from the trees. They could manage a little longer. But not much.

"How do you do it?" Prim asked, breaking the silence that had pervaded between them since they woke from a restless sleep that morning.

Cato was a tough guy to read. He kept a lot of things internalized and yet he never felt cold or uncaring. At least not the guy she knew now. There had been a time though, back in the beginning of the 74th Hunger Games when he'd seemed most likely to carry the superlative for most brutish Career.

"Humph?" Cato grunted from his post against the tree across from her.

Taking a breath Prim tried to clear away some of the grime on her face, but it was to no avail. She huffed in frustration before running a hand through her hair only to find it getting stuck in the tangled not of her blood-crusted hair. She looked back up at Cato and forced out the question.

"I just meant how do you know… kill?" Prim quickly averted her eyes from his and looked down at her folded legs. The spandex fabric of her outfit had been silver to start with, but now it was stained a ruddy brown and coated with blackened blood.

"Why are you asking?" Cato asked and he was suddenly much closer. Prim's head jolted up to see that he had moved to crouch next to her. She straightened her back a little and swallowed down her trepidation. She was an adult now and could hold an adult conversation.

"I'm just worried. I don't want to be a killer. I don't want to become something awful like those careers... Like Asasia or Cashmere." Prim's chest fluttered as she finally verbalized the fear that had been eating away at her since stepping foot in the Arena. "I—I had a chance, back—um—in the fight with the Careers. To kill Enobaria I mean. She was on top of you and I had a clear shot. I could have hit her in the neck, but I—choked. Something froze inside me and I couldn't kill her and I missed the opportunity and instead hit her in the side…"

A hand came to grip the bottom of Prim's chin lightly and pulled it up until she was forced to look in Cato's warm amber eyes. She'd have blushed if she weren't caked in blood. He was very attractive up close.

"You'll never be anything like those women." Cato said with force, but not harsh. They were tender, comforting words that he meant sincerely. "Do you hear me? There is nothing inside you that could ever be compared to them. They have hate in their hearts. They've been corrupted by the games, by—" He lowered to a whisper, "The Capitol."

Letting go of her chin, Cato repositioned so he was seated next to her and slung one arm over her shoulder, pulling her in close. It felt nice. She hadn't been comforted like this since Peeta sang her to sleep before the games started. Even though she was an adult now she could still indulge in a little cuddling she reasoned.

"We do what we have to, Primrose." Cato sighed. "Sometimes we're asked to do horrible things, but we'll do them. We will do what we have to protect the ones we love—to protect ourselves. No one will blame you. And you wont become them if you take a life. Peeta—" Cato took a deep breath and Prim's head rose with the rise of his chest. She could hear the stutter of his heart as he spoke Peeta's name and her gut twisted in sympathy. "Peeta worried about the same thing. But then when his friends were in danger, threatened by terrible, unscrupulous people he made the tough decision. Sometimes there is no right answer, but if you do it for the right reasons it'll be okay."

It wasn't what Prim had expected to hear, but it made sense. She didn't have to be a killer even if she killed. Something inside Primrose knew it was truth. Peeta hadn't hesitated when it came time to kill when it meant his and Katniss's life were in danger. She felt a little piece of her resolve harden in the center of her chest, if someone she loved was in trouble she would do what had to be done to protect them. No hesitation and no question about it. Not like last time, she promised herself that much.

"I wont fail you again, Cato." Prim said with a steely resolve that felt light years removed from the young timid girl she used to be.

"Prim," Cato said. He looked down at her with knotted brows and a heavy heart. "You never failed me. Nor Peeta. You've done only your best and your best has been pretty damn good so far. Don't put yourself down. If you hadn't done what you did Enobaria would have killed me and we all would have died back there."

A pride swelled inside Prim like the sun's warm light on a summer day radiated inside her stomach and she smiled. It took more muscles than necessary as she fought against the dried blood, cracking it apart to reveal her bright smile. It was hard for her to say now whom she liked more. Gale and Cato were both great men and they'd both now helped her through difficult times. Why did life have to be so complicated? She could only fathom what it must be like for Peeta.

Resting her head back against Cato's chest Prim felt when it suddenly tensed and his heart rate skyrocketed. Fear coursed through Prim's veins in response to Cato. He had caught wind of something off. He pulled his arm free of her and stood up, unsheathing the sword on his belt. He signaled for her to stay low as he crept forward, pushing apart the dense foliage. Prim strained to hear or see anything, but she didn't have the training Cato did to notice whatever had set him off. She clutched the only remaining knife she had tight against her chest and waited.

After a beat Prim realized she was holding her breath and quickly inhaled. That was a sure fire way to get herself killed! She mentally kicked herself. But finally Prim picked up on what Cato heard. It was the sound of people running. She could hear the underbrush being displaced by their fast moving feet and the closer the got she could even make out their ragged breath. Fear threatened to immobilize her. It had been days since they'd had to face anything but blood rain and she had become complacent. She refused to stay still otherwise she might succumb to the fear. So instead she leapt to her feet and joined Cato's side. He glared at her, but there was nothing he could do as she was going to stay by his side, fight or flight.

It sounded like a rather big group of people running and it didn't seem like they knew where they were. Then Prim heard a voice.

"Fuck, c'mon! Get your asses moving!"

It was a very familiar voice, usually it was roughish with just the hint of an edge, but now it was all steely determination. It was Johanna. She had been very kind to Prim on the hovercraft ride to the Arena. They had been sitting next to each other and Johanna helped distract her from her thoughts. With out her Prim thought she might have lost it completely. She had never been so terrified in her life as that thirty-minute flight to the Arena. Johanna had kept her talking and distracted the whole time and explained everything that would happen next. She was more than grateful to have had her there. Prim found her heart was a little lighter knowing Johanna was still alive.

"It's Johanna!" Prim whisper-exclaimed to Cato. "We should help her! It sounds like they might be in trouble."

Cato threw an arm out and held her back before she could even try to move.

"We'll do no such thing! We don't know if we can trust them and I'm not putting you in harms way."

"I'm already in harms way, it's the Hunger Games!" Prim retorted hotly.

Suddenly they heard a devious cackle and more racing footstep. She was right they were in trouble. Cato's body tensed like a dogs bracing for a fight, but instead he dropped to the ground and pulled Prim down with him.

"It's Asasia and the others! Do. Not. Move." He hissed.

Prim's face was planted in the dirt and it smelled of rotted flesh like everything around her did. Then she heard a strangled cry.

"Shit! Alright, we're gonna have to fight them!" Johanna cried.

"We can't take them!" Another man's voice shouted, which also sounded familiar to Prim, but she couldn't quite place it.

"That's the first smart thing I've heard you say," Replied the icy voice of Asasia. Prim knew it instantly by the thick layer of distaste that reverberated from everything she spoke.

War cries and clashing steel reached their ears and Prim couldn't stand by any longer. She pushed up and darted forward with surprising agility, dodging Cato's clamoring grasp. She raced through the thickets of jungle vines towards the battle sounds and burst on the scene of an all out battle. Asasia, Enobaria and Gloss had surrounded Johanna who was putting up a valiant fight with axes in each hand. Beetee tried his best with a spear to keep Gloss at a distance and protect Wiress while Johanna took on both Asasia and Enobaria. It was like watching a ballet. Every movement of Johanna's was graceful and perfectly timed against the other's movements. Asasia growled in frustration and lunged forward, but Johanna just danced around her and slashed her shoulder with one of the fighting axes she held.

In a swift movement Enobaria countered Johanna's attack with an agile dance of her own and knocked one of the axes from her hand. It was in that moment that Prim threw herself into the fray and aimed her only remaining knife at the center of Enobaria's back. Unfortunately Gloss called out in warning at the last second and she moved just so that the knife barely sliced along the side of her abdomen. She hissed in pain and then lit up with shock at seeing a blood drenched Prim. Asasia—wasting no time—used the distraction to her advantage and darted through their line of defenses to bring the spiked club down on Wiress before she even had the chance to scream. Blood blossomed forth from the fracture to her scull and—BOOM—the cannon fire sounded before her body even hit the ground.

"No!" Beetee shouted in anguish.

Thankfully Johanna kept it together and jumped into swift action, sidestepping Enobaria newest attack and racing at Beetee, pulling him along with her and out of the way just as Asasia and Gloss closed in on him. Cato suddenly burst on the scene and joined the fight with a savage cry, taking on Enobaria as she charged at Prim for vengeance. That was the second time now a knife of Prim's had hit her.

"Thanks for the help peach!" Johanna said to Prim as she pulled up along side her. "I've been carrying these guys through the games for the past six days, it's been exhausting! Beetee stay with her!" Johanna ordered before darting off to their right.

The battle turned horribly fierce now as Cato faced off with both Gloss and Enobaria while Asasia raced after Johanna, taunting her for being an awful protector. "One down, two to go."

Prim could hear the splash of the ocean waves close by and knew they were close to the beach. Maybe she could find a new weapon at the Cornucopia. With that in mind she took off towards the break in the line of trees, disregarding Beetee's cry to wait up. She could hear him struggling to keep up after her, but she wasn't about to let this fight happen with out her. She had to protect those she cared about and she couldn't do that weaponless. A beastly roar boomed across the Arena, but Prim didn't let it startle her. It was just another common sound of this horrible Arena.

Crashing through the forest Prim abruptly burst through the line of trees and onto the beach. Her feet sank into the soft sand and she came to a stop, startled by her sudden change in surroundings. She had been trapped in that blood drenched forest for so long she forgot how disorienting the beautiful aqua blue water was. The sun was setting in the distance directly across from her and it was blinding. She covered her eyes to scan the horizon, looking for one of the sand bars she could run along to the Cornucopia. Instead she spotted to figures on the beach opposite her. Peeta and Finnick! Her heart jumped with joy at the sight of them and she thought of running directly to them for help.

Except before she could make a move she heard shouting and suddenly Peeta took off running back into the line of trees as Finnick pleaded for him to wait. It sounded like he was saying something about a trap. She would never know for sure though because Beetee came crashing out of the forest behind her, gasping for breath and a panicked expression on his worn face.

"They're—coming—right—behind—us!"

Prim gripped his hand in hers and ran towards the nearest sand spoke.

"FINNICK!" Prim called out. "CAREERS!"

Finnick stabbed his trident into the sand, but Prim couldn't hear a response. She dashed down the sand bar as fast as her feet could carry her with Beetee trailing right behind her. There was more noise behind her and a quick look over the shoulder showed Cato and Johanna had just reached the beach. They took Prim's lead and moved quickly across the sand bars that intersected the water.

"Is that Finnick?" Cato called out in confusion.

"Yes! Peeta was with him but he just ran back into the jungle!" Prim shouted in response. They had reached the Cornucopia and when she turned to look behind her adrenaline spiked in blood again. The Careers were now on the beach. They split up and then each one of them took a sand bar and started racing towards them. Suddenly the Cornucopia seemed like the worst idea as now they were practically trapped on a small little island with no where to go as the Careers bore down on them with nothing but bloodlust in their heartless eyes.

* * *

"GALE? GALE WHERE ARE YOU?" Peeta shouted into the now devastatingly quiet jungle.

It was like someone had shut off all the noise in this section of the jungle. Everything was still and eerily quiet. Too quiet for he knew the roar of the beast came from this section as did Gale's cries for help. It was as if the Gamemakers had shut off all sound. Nothing breached the fearful silence. It was so quiet it felt like the air was thick like molasses and absorbing everything before the sound had a chance to escape. But Peeta didn't have time for this. Gale was here, somewhere. He knew it. His heart could feel it. The connection between the two of them, the bridge they'd built told him it wasn't a lie. It couldn't be.

And yet there was no response now to his shouts. Just returned silence.

"Gale, please!" Peeta begged. "Tell me where you are!"

Peeta moved forward swift and determined with an arrow strung and ready. But the longer the silence lasted the more his doubt ate away at him like some infestation of fleas. The silence, it was overwhelming. It bore down on Peeta like the ceiling was slowly being lowered until eventually he'd be crushed. Was Finnick right when he'd shouted it was just a trap? Another Gamemaker's trick?

Then suddenly he heard what sounded like a bulldozer tearing through the forest. The sound of earth being torn apart and the thunderous cracks of tree trunks breaking reverberated through the silence like gun shots aimed straight at Peeta's ear drums. Then he heard the cry.

"Oh god! Peeta it's close!"

"I'm coming!" Peeta shouted in return. "I promise." He said to himself.

He dug his heels into the dirt and raced in the direction of Gale's cries and whatever was making those sounds. He put everything he had into it. Gale's cries were desperate. Whatever was in here with them was almost upon him. The cracks and booms of trees being torn apart and ripped from the ground grew louder as Peeta closed in on Gale's voice. He thought he was behind it, but only by a minute. He had to get their first. Whatever the thing was, it was too big to maneuver easily through the trees.

Then more shouts entered the forest. It was Cato. And Finnick, and others that he couldn't place. There were too many people yelling in this section of the forest and it threw him for a loop. What was happening? Were they real or fake? He couldn't process it so he kept running.

Thwump, thwump.

No, not again! Peeta thought frantically. He almost ran straight into a fallen tree. It had huge gashes going down the length of it. He clambered over it and then moved forward, stopping only momentarily to reorient himself in position to where Gale's voice had come from. He was close he knew it. He veered to the left and passed through a row of trees that had been shredded apart.

Thwump, thwump.

Peeta could hear the beat of his heart in his ears practically as loud as the beasts roar. He stumbled and then stopped and grabbed his head with both hands. If he could just hold on, if he could just keep grounded.

"GAAAHHHH!" Peeta screamed as loud as he could up at the violet sky. The beast roared back in return and the sound of its progress halted.

Somehow, someway, through his scream and tight grip on his head the feeling passed. He was left with a pounding headache and nausea in his stomach, but then Gale shouted again and Peeta was running. Bow and arrow ready for a fight.

Then there was an explosion of bark and branches, dirt and leaves, directly to Peeta's left and he was thrown onto his back. The wind was knocked from his lungs and he had trouble seeing straight. He looked for the source of the explosion to find a terrifying beast that made his blood run cold. It was the size of the trees around it, covered in black fur, and had these arms that looked almost human in the way they were built, except for the razor claws at the tips of its hand. Peeta watched dumbfounded as the beast with a gorilla's flattened leather face and glowing red eyes plowed through the trees in it's way, coming straight for Peeta.

Flinging forward, Peeta pulled the bow into his hand, notched an arrow and let it loose, quickly following with two more. He fired with out aiming; just praying they'd find its target. The beast grunted in annoyance, but never slowed its approach. Just as it tore down the last tree in its way—mulch and twigs raining down on Peeta—he took careful aim with the bow. The monster lunged, it's bulging arm coming straight at Peeta and he fired. The beast roared in pain and its claw just barely missed him, gouging huge chunks from the earth right before Peeta's feet.

Peeta quickly righted himself and began to run. He barely made it ten yards when he slammed into another body. They both fell backwards and groaned in pain. Peeta's head throbbed and everything ached with exhaustion. Looking back behind him the beast was still there behind the trees probably with its arms swinging about in fury as it tried to dislodge the arrow from its right eye. Then looking in front of him Peeta's eyes connected with the beady black one's of Asasia.

"Well isn't this a fantastic surprise," Her grin almost broke her face it was so big. "I should have known Cato ran into these woods for a reason."

Suddenly Gloss broke through the flora behind them and Asasia swiped the bow from Peeta, tossing it behind her and standing ready with her spiked club. The flesh of some unknown victim hung from the deadly silver spikes.

"Let's make this quick, I'm actually growing bored with all this." Asasia stated.

"I agree." Peeta said and then he rolled to the left and let out another bellow. The beast roared in return and latched onto his new position. It charged and Gloss and Asasia gasped as it unexpectedly appeared crashing through the trees. Peeta snatched up his bow from behind Gloss and quickly shot his thigh with an arrow while he stood surprised by the beast's appearance. He cried out in pain and fell to the ground. Asasia took in the sight of the charging beast and shook her head.

"Fuck that!" She turned and ran.

"Asasia, no! Don't leave me!" Gloss shouted in panic, but she didn't even bother with a response. Her disappearance between the leaves was answer enough. Then he looked to Peeta, but he too just shook his head and stepped out of sight. The last thing Peeta saw was the beasts clawed fist coming down on Gloss and a terrified scream ripped from his lungs.

As Peeta raced back around the beast towards where it had come from, hoping to follow its trail to Gale he heard the boom of the cannon and knew Gloss was dead. It was getting dark and harder to see as he raced through the leveled trail left by the beast. He could see exactly where it had stopped its progress to turn and charge towards Peeta, because the destruction just ended and the jungle picked back of thick and dark. What little light was left barely able to filter down through the canopy. Then, finally, Peeta burst into a clearing and saw him.

Gale.

He was alive. He was real. He was right before him. And he was struggling against the bindings of thick rope that held him tied to the base of a pole in the middle of the clearing.

Gale's eyes latched onto Peeta's and he froze. They both did. It was like being caught in the tractor beam of the Capitol's hovercraft. Neither of them could move and yet he was drawn forward towards him. His feet stopped just short of being right on top of Gale. Neither of them spoke. He wasn't sure if it would be possible. Peeta lifted one hesitant hand and moved it forward. Gale tensed and the second it hung in the air before Gale felt like a thousand. Peeta's heart was on the verge of bursting with anxiety until finally he touched the cool, soft fabric of Gale's shirt, felt the muscles twitch beneath his palm and the thunderous beat of his heart. He was real. Peeta looked up into his eyes again. Those cobalt eyes were something he'd never thought he'd see again and yet here they were looking back at him in person.

"Wait, what the hell is going on?" Peeta snapped back to reality. He looked around the clearing for a trap, something, but there was nothing. Just this pole Gale was tied to.

Why the hell was Gale here. And why was he tied to a pole? Something was terribly wrong with all of this.

"Not now, just help get these off me. We've got to move." Gale said, his voice raw and tense, either from all the shouting he'd done or from Peeta's close proximity.

Shaking his head to clear it, Peeta dove into action and began untying him. His fingers felt thick and numb, like they belonged to someone else. He had trouble getting them to do what he wanted. Once the last knot was undone the thick ropes fell to the ground useless and Gale stepped out from them and forward, into Peeta's space. All the air was vacuumed away and Peeta found himself losing focus again. Gale seemed to have completely lost his. His eyes kept darting down to look at Peeta's lips and Peeta felt his belly flip uncomfortably.

Even though already hot and sweaty from the humidity and running, Peeta felt his body react to Gale's closeness and heat up, sweat breaking out across his body. Gale lifted a hand to press against Peeta's neck and then they both lunged forward and connected lips. Peeta wasn't thinking. He couldn't think. Not when this was real and right in front of him and they were both alive. He hadn't realized how much he missed him until he was right in front of him. Their tongues clashed in a fierce kiss that knocked all the air from Peeta's lungs and all other thoughts from his mind except for one. Need. He needed this. He needed the feel of those lips against his. The feel of Gale's rough hands against the back of his neck. The feel of his fingers threading through Gale's thick brown hair. The feel of his strong, lithe body pressed up against his. The feel of being alive and of worth, because that's what Gale had said once. That he mattered. That he was worth it—worth everything.

Then it hit Peeta where exactly he was and just who was watching.

Everyone.

Every person in Panem had just seen him kiss Gale.

He took two steps backwards and wiped the back of his hand across his lips. They were swollen and red from the intensity of their kiss. He could still feel the tingle on his skin from Gale's stubble and his rubbing together. There were too many stimulants. Too many things for his brain to get side tracked by. But they had to get out of here before the beast found them again.

"We—we shouldn't have done that…" Peeta finally spoke and was startled by the husky quality of it.

There was a sound to their right, the rustling of leaves. Peeta's snatched an arrow from his back and strung it on the readied bow turning towards the sound. Expecting the beast, but finding something all the more worse Peeta felt the bow and arrow drop from his dead hands. Everything he had felt the morning of the reaping—after his night with Gale—all came rushing back. The crushing guilt, the bitter self-loathing, the internalized hate and the shame, it all came back ten times stronger and hit him like the bullet from a shotgun.

Cato had seen everything.

"Oh god," Peeta moaned with a dawning sense of realization. "Oh god."


	19. Paradise Lost

Ch. 19- Paradise Lost

Drenched in blood, just like Prim had been, Cato stood at the opening to the clearing where Peeta and Gale stood. But all Peeta could focus on were his eyes. His usually warm and inviting chocolate eyes were so dark and piercing that Peeta gasped. For a moment Peeta thought he was looking into the beetle black eyes of his long dead enemy, Stasson. Cato stood stalk still, every muscle—black with blood—tensed and coiled, like a jungle cat bracing for the attack. Then he turned on his heel and ran from them, disappearing like a bloody ghost of the past into the foreboding jungle.

"Wait!" Peeta shouted, but it was no use. He knew Cato wouldn't listen, not at the moment and they were still in the section of the jungle with the beast. It could re-emerge at any moment. With out looking at Gale Peeta took off running after Cato, calling out over his shoulder. "Follow me, we have to get back to the beach."

The sun was now far behind the mountains and darkness blanketed the Arena. Everything was silent again in the jungle like someone had cupped their hands over his ears muffling everything. An unnatural void of sound that left Peeta's mind with nothing to focus on but the dread running through his mind and the twisting of his gut into knots like the roots of a tree. They might never come undone. It was a permanent growth.

What have I done?

Shallow pants let Peeta know that Gale was following close behind. He was glad Gale didn't trying to talk at the moment or it would have been too much. He couldn't deal with it all—like how or why Gale was here, what that kiss meant, what he was going to say to Cato—not now and yet he had too. The forest whipped and lashed out at Peeta from the darkness as they ran, much like his mind suddenly lobbed a horrible thought at him like a branch from the dark. He pushed on towards the beach, trying to focus on the burn in his thighs. They felt like jelly with the amount of running he'd done. Bombs might have gone off and he wouldn't have noticed, nothing could penetrate him at the moment. The destruction that was Cato's face kept replaying before his eyes and he picked up the pace, hoping to reach the beach soon. Hoping he'd catch up to Cato.

Thankfully there were no more nasty encounters with the beast or the remaining Careers. They made it to the beach where relative safety laid and sound returned like the flipping of a switch. The gentle lapping of the water against the sand was the most prominent. Peeta quickly spotted Cato storming away from them towards the Cornucopia. He followed him to one of the sand bars, but he couldn't catch his breath and it wasn't exhaustion from the run. He bent over with both hands on his knees and tried to breath. Gale put a tentative hand on his back, but Peeta shrugged it off and stood. He had to face this now. He couldn't wait. His throat froze up, but he pushed past the blockage and finally yelled.

"Cato, stop." Peeta said. He kept moving. "Stop! You have to face me."

The dark figure that was Cato froze. Then he turned and thrust back towards Peeta like a charging bull, his chest puffed and his face hidden in shadows making his approach all the more intimidating. The moon had yet to rise and everything seemed bathed in a compressing gloom.

"You don't get to tell me what I have to do." Cato growled as he bore down on Peeta, shoving a bloody finger into his chest. Peeta flinched. There would definitely be a bruise. "You don't get to tell me anything!"

"Whoa, hand's off." Gale warned, inserting himself between Cato and Peeta

Cato's eyes flashed like a spark of lightning and Peeta groaned, knowing Gale had made the wrong move. Before he could react Cato right fist shot forward from the dark and slammed into Gale's jaw, knocking him off the sand bar and into the water with an explosive splash. His fist was caked in blood, but his whole body was so Peeta wasn't sure what the damage was going to be to Gale.

"Cato!" Peeta reprimanded, shoving past him to try and offer a hand to Gale. Luckily it seemed like he knew how to swim and he treaded water back to the sand bar. He pulled himself up and before he could make a move Peeta shoved him back, "Stay out of this." Then seeing his eyes, midnight blue like the sky above—filled with nothing but worry, Peeta added, "Please."

Gale nodded and stepped back, bringing a hand to rub his bruised jaw.

Turning back to Cato, Peeta breathed out a ragged breath. Cato wouldn't even make eye contact. His breaths came out in short, violent puffs, giving off the image of a pissed bull. Peeta reached forward, wanting to try and calm him, but he jumped back as if Peeta's hand were a scalding hot poker. Peeta's chest tightened and his eyes burned with a pressure that swelled behind them. An indication of tears that wanted to come, but he had no right to them. Not now.

"I—I'm so—"

"No," Interrupted Cato. "Don't you dare say it. You don't get to say that."

Peeta was acutely aware of Gale's proximity behind him. He was trying to give them space, but he hovered just close enough to intervene if things got violent again.

"You're right, but please just hear me out." Peeta begged, but as to what he had to say even he didn't know. He just knew they had to talk. Now, before it was too late.

It might already be.

"Hear what?" Cato barked a condescending laugh towards the sky before crossing his arms, making him look bulkier than before. He was wearing his muscles and aggression like armor. At one time Peeta knew how to break through that tough exterior he wore like a mask, but now he wasn't so sure. He yearned to reach out and touch him, but all the secrets that he'd kept from Cato, now out in the open, created a barrier he just couldn't breach.

"Hear how while I was held hostage," Cato continued, "Starved, and tortured by my own district you were busy replacing me with the first person with a dick who gave you an ounce of attention?"

"That's not fair!" Peeta interjected. His heart was pounding so hard he thought for sure it would beat right out of his chest. Or maybe it would just give out, completely spent. It felt like a jackhammer against his ribcage and it caused everything he said to come out in a stutter, making him seem weaker—indecisive.

"No, you know what's not fair?" Cato's arms unlatched and he clenched fists at his side. He was shaking with unbridled anger as he spoke, moving in so close to Peeta that he could feel the heat emanating from him along with the foul smell of the rotted blood coating his body. "That I loved you with everything I had, everything I could give and when I thought everyone had turned on me, when I thought I'd die in that basement you were all that kept me going. When I was close to just giving up I'd remember your face. I'd remember that you were out there and that our love was something special, something worth fighting for. Now I find you've abandoned me too. I should have listened to my instincts because I knew something was different about you. I knew you were hiding something, but I couldn't bring myself to believe you'd defile our love!"

"That's not true. I never meant to do any of that!" Peeta gasped. His voice broke unevenly and he cringed at the weakness of it. The pressure behind his eyes was unbearable. It was like he was watching the scene play out before him underwater and he could barely form the words he wanted to speak. "Thing's hadn't been good between us long before Gale and I happened. You know that as mush as I do and don't you pretend it!" Peeta was on the verge of indignant anger and he knew he had to rein it in. So he took a breath and calmed before proceeding. "Your calls became less and less frequent. You blamed me for hiding Snows decision from you. Then you disappeared and I couldn't get a hold of you. You were just gone and I had no idea what happened. How could I? I didn't know what to think—"

"Well now you don't have to," Cato interrupted. This time he wasn't quaking with anger. He was still. A calm had descended over him and his voice was a smooth as silk. It was more startling than anything he'd done or said before. "Because I'm gone and this is over."

Then Cato lifted his left hand and Peeta wanted to flinch, but he remained still, refusing to look away from Cato's face—even if he couldn't do the same. But Cato didn't hit him. Instead he tore the engagement ring he had made on the rooftop of the training center and chucked it at Peeta's chest. It may have been made of young, springy bark—weighing no more than a small thimble—but when it hit his chest it felt like a bullet. It tore through the flesh and muscle of his chest, perfectly aimed at his heart. It took all his strength just to keep it beating. Cato turned his back on Peeta and walked away, disappearing in the distance into the dark abyss that threatened to swallow them all and Peeta just watched; all the fight drained from his system by that one action. There was nothing left to give. Nothing left to be said.

It was as if a space had opened up inside Peeta and was rapidly expanding outward. He couldn't breath. Everything was being displaced by the growing space in his chest. It felt like something was forever lost to him. Irrevocably broken. A sob echoed across the beach and Peeta jumped backwards, startled to know it came from him. He landed against the solid chest of Gale, whose arms wrapped around him and hugged him as his legs gave out and he collapsed to the sand, one leg slipping into the warm bath water of the ocean that banked them on either side.

Gripping the strong, but not overpowering arms of Gale's that held Peeta in place, he let the tears finally escape. He quietly sobbed into the dark night and grieved for everything he'd lost and for everything he'd done. There were too many mistakes to count. Too many loses to suffer. Peeta remembered a conversation he had with Cato when Portia's death threatened to overwhelm him. How he'd said Snow wanted to take everything from him and how Cato had said so simply, but convincingly 'then we wont let him.'

Maybe they never had a chance. Maybe they had just been deluding themselves. There was nothing they could do. There was nothing he could do. He was just a stupid boy. Nothing more. No symbol of hope or power. He wasn't the mockingjay. The only thing they'd ever got right was that he was on fire. Everything was burning. It was all burning down until there would be nothing left of him, but ash and the broken hope of a nation. Peeta hated that the whole nation was watching this moment too; that they got to share in on his heartbreak. Was he letting them down too? After all those people had fought for their chance to survive in the first games and then he slapped them in the face by kissing Gale. It was like cement bricks had been tied to his feet and he'd been dropped in the deepest part of the ocean. It carried him down, deeper and deeper, to the darkest depths that no man had reached before and the pressure of it all threatened to crush his bones and break his spirit. It was merciless as the depths pushed down upon him, beating and bruising his body until it was just as broken and mangled feeling as his soul.

"I'm so sorry, Peeta… you don't deserve this…" Gale whispered gently against Peeta's ear. His lips just barely grazing against the shell of his ear as he tried to soothe him, but there was nothing that could be said to solve the situation. Ever since he had returned to the Capitol his relationship with Cato had been untenable. It was only a matter of time before the spider webbing of lies all crashed down and it was Peeta's fault for not facing it head on. He was a coward. He should have told him. Instead he hid it and let the secrets and lies fester until the foul smell of them could no longer be disguised—like a diseased wound turning on its host.

A flashing light and the faint, but growing beep that accompanied it awoke Peeta from his grief. He looked up to see a gift, sent by someone's sponsors, float haphazardly through the sky before setting down in the water just before the Cornucopia. The waves gently pushed it up against the sand and Peeta finally realized he had an audience. Prim and Finnick, along with Johanna and Beetee all stood at the opening of the Cornucopia watching him. All their eyes were unreadable from such a distance, but Peeta could tell they each held varying degrees of sympathy and judgment.

So Peeta took one final deep breath and then stood, storing Cato's ring in the breast pocket over his heart. It felt like a hundred pound weight now hung over his heart and every beat was a struggle—a reminder of the weight of what he'd done. Gale offered a hand to steady him, but Peeta pushed him aside. His stomach clenched, but he couldn't be bothered to care. He couldn't bear to look at Gale at the moment, but he was glad to see that at least Gale had been thinking through out this whole ordeal and had the presence of mind to bring Peeta's bow and arrow with him from the clearing. It had completely skipped his mind and with out Gale it probably would still be in that clearing. But instead of thanking him he chose to move forward, picking up the bow and shouldering the sheath of arrows. He had to figure out what happened, why Gale was here, what was going on, why were Johanna and Beetee now with them? But at the moment he chose to focus on the least troubling question, what was in the sponsor's gift?

Reaching the Cornucopia Peeta stood before the others for a moment in paralyzed fear, not sure what to say. Johanna had the small metal box in her hands, open and its contents visible. Finnick and her both exchanged a knowing look. They knew something Peeta didn't, but what he couldn't figure out as it was just a bunch of bread from different districts. Finally Prim broke the silence and rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Peeta.

"I'm glad to see you." She breathed into his chest.

She was cleansed of the blood he had seen her earlier in, but there was still blood around her cuticles and clumps in her hair. He figured she must have cleaned off in the water. The origins of the blood seemed unimportant.

"Me too," Peeta replied, leaning into the hug and putting his arms around her.

Johanna wasted no time with pleasantries and stormed past Peeta. The box of bread dropped to the sand. She pushed right up into Gale's space and held an axe against his throat.

"Anybody care to tell me who the hell this guy is?"

"Hey!"

"Don't!"

"Stand down Johanna," Finnick ordered, moving forward and putting a firm hand on her bony shoulder. "He's someone from Peeta's home district. As to how he's here, I have no idea, but I'd sure like to get some answers."

Beetee stepped forward, inserting himself into the scene and spoke evenly. "Yes, it's completely unprecedented to find anyone in the Arena besides a tribute. Do you remember anything as to how you got put here?"

"Either way we are running out of time," Johanna grumbled, begrudgingly lowering her axe from Gale's throat and stepping back. She wiped the back of her hand under her nose and sniffed.

"What do you mean?" Peeta asked, planting himself between her and Gale, but still keeping his back to him.

"Nothing, we've just got to end this is all."

"I have an idea, with this wire here," Beetee showed to everyone in one hand. It looked like normal enough wire, gold in color and tightly wound into a thick coil. There were probably hundreds of feet of it. "We can get rid of all our enemies at once if we lure them to the beach right as the lightening strike that big tree."

Everyone looked towards the charred tree in the distance, now visible with the help of the full moon light. Peeta wasn't sure he got it, but Beetee's mind moved at a much faster pace than his it seemed.

"But what about Cato?" Prim asked and Peeta felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

What about him? What were they going to do now? They couldn't just leave him out there, but he was one man in a vast Arena. Peeta felt sick to his stomach with the inundation of what if scenarios that flashed before his mind's eye. Now everyone Peeta loved was in the Quarter Quell and would probably die.

Loved. The word spun around and around in Peeta's brain. Did he… did he really feel that way for Gale? And what of Cato? Could he really love two people? Could he be so selfish?

Before anyone could respond there was a huge roar as a giant wave ripped through the forest near where the beast's section had been. It suddenly flooded out onto the beach, carrying with it all sorts of jungle debris that ends up deposited in the seawater. Everyone shuddered at the thought of having been trapped in that.

Then Gale sidestepped around Peeta and put himself in the center of the situation.

"If we are going to do anything we will need to move fast. They aren't just going to sit by and let me live."

"Who's not going to let you live?" Johanna demanded. "What type of danger did you bring on us now?"

Finnick reached out and put a hand on her shoulder again, but she slapped it off this time. "I don't need you trying to calm me down. I've been on the fucking run from those psycho careers for the better part of a week now, trying to keep Wiress and Beetee alive for you," Johanna stared directly at Peeta with fearsome eyes. "And now I finally find you only to find an even more fucked up situation!"

"Hey, I didn't ask you to do any of that!"

"Well it happened and you better find it in you to be grateful because with out us your ass would be royally screwed—more so than usual."

The sneer on Johanna's face lit something in Peeta he didn't know had been lying dormant waiting to spark and he lunged at her with both fists. A snarl erupted from Johanna's mouth as he slammed into her knocking her to the ground, but before either of them could do anything but howl like animals they were ripped apart by Finnick and Gale.

"Enough of this! Fighting between us will get us no where." Finnick growled, his sea green eyes flashing threateningly. Every feature on his face was hardened and tense, no longer just a pretty face.

"I don't know," Peeta said while struggling in Gale's arms, almost being lifted off his feet at points. "Killing her means one less person to worry about. We don't know if we can trust her and it doesn't matter anyways with so few of us left. And will you get your hands off me Hawthorne!"

The strong grip around Peeta's abdomen suddenly disappeared and Gale withdrew from him as if he'd scalded him. But Peeta was glad to be free of his oppressive touch. He couldn't handle it at the moment, any of it. Johanna pulled herself up, dusting the sand from her body and ready to give a biting retort when Prim stomped her foot and shouted, "Enough!

"Will you all stop acting like such children? My god, it's like you all have a death wish or something. The only way for us to survive is if we work together. And I don't care what either of you think!" Prim pointed at both Johanna and Peeta, her olive eyes calm yet determined. "I trust both of you, so let's just put aside everything for the moment and hear what Gale has to say."

Peeta gaped at Primrose like he'd never seen her before. He wasn't sure who this strong, determined girl standing before him was, but she deserved to be listened to.

"Fine." Peeta bit out.

"Yeah, whatever." Johanna cracked her back and acted like she could care less, twirling the small axe like a baton.

"Thanks Prim," Gale said gruffly, like there was something in his throat. Peeta fought the urge to analyze him. He still couldn't bring himself to look directly at Gale. Not after what they'd done to Cato. "I'm sure the camera's haven't been watching us for a while. They've been doing some real selective editing this year trying to keep everyone in the dark about what they've been doing in the games and what you've been saying. But the gist of it is we're in the midst of a full scale rebellion."

If there had been any doubt about wanting to listen to Gale before everyone was stone still and attentive. What he said didn't make sense to Peeta and yet it was the only explanation for everything that had happened.

"That's why the Quarter Quell started early."

"Yes," Gale's eyes settled on Peeta and this time he couldn't look away. He wanted nothing more than to get lost in them; to swim in their deep blue depths and find comfort, but that was more than wrong, it was treacherous. "You're mockingjay themed costume at the Opening Ceremonies ignited it, at least in District 12. No one could stand by anymore and just let them kill you—and Prim or anymore of our young. But I know most of the other Districts are fighting back too. I've been working with some mysterious group that's backing the rebellion. They never told me much at all, but they have connections to each District and have been providing us with vital info and much needed supplies, like guns and medical supplies."

"Who is this mysterious group?" Beetee asked, intrigue written all over his worn face.

"No idea, they never told us more than we needed. One idea is that their Capitol sympathizers."

Peeta had to sit down. Johanna quirked one eyebrow at Finnick and Beetee nodded knowingly—like it was some simple math problem and he had just completed the equation, but Peeta was too exhausted to care what any of it meant. The realization that he had sparked an all out war was too much. And on top of it Portia had been a part of it. Her actions and Peeta's status were directly linked to her death. That's what she had been hiding from Peeta. The fashion industry wasn't upset with her, the Capitol was. But how could Peeta, one person, have incited a whole nation to rise up? Was this why Snow had been so worried by Peeta?

"My mom? Is she okay?" Prim pushed past Peeta on the sand to right in front of Gale, looking at him with desperately big eyes.

"Yes, we've got safe houses all over the district and move between them frequently to confuse the Peacekeepers as to our location. She's very important to the rebels since she is one of our few medics in the district." Gale pulled her in to a side armed hug and then his eyes fell back to Peeta yet again. "Your family is fine too. But things could have changed—"

"So how'd you get here?" Johanna demanded.

"Johanna, isn't it obvious?" Beetee supplied. "They're using fear tactics to try and quell the uprising."

"He's right." Gale answered, facing her with a stare that showed he wasn't afraid of her. Peeta registered the shrill clicking sound of thousands of insects coming to life in the jungle behind them. The final section had triggered before the lightning strike. There wasn't much time left.

"The Capitol has been capturing rebel leaders and sending them into the middle of the Arena where they're killed and made an example of to the rest of Panem. I was caught a few days ago in a firefight and that's how I ended up here. I think I'm the first to have survived. They usually time it perfectly to coincide with the triggering of a deadly section of the jungle."

"That explains it." Finnick said, looking at Peeta meaningfully. "Why we've heard all those deaths, saw that man die in the fog, but haven't heard any canons. They've been rebels. Is there no low the Capitol won't stoop to?"

"Are the rebels coming for us?" Prim asked hopefully. "I mean they want to rescue us, right? That's why this started—to save us."

She bounced back and forth on the balls of her feet hopefully. Now Peeta paid his full attention to Gale; he couldn't fight the creeping sensation of hope. That maybe there was a way out for everyone. Maybe they could all make it out of this hell alive and he wouldn't have to lose anymore than he already had. But Gale's downturned face quickly smothered that hope in its infancy.

"I don't think so. I'm sorry Prim. In the beginning I think that is what we had hoped. If we rose up the games might have been canceled and then we could have eventually got to you in the Capitol. But instead they sent you to the Arena early and no one has the slightest idea where this place could be. I think we're on our own."

"Either way we're running out of time," Johanna said determinedly, stashing her axe in the belt around her waist.

Peeta finally stood, tired of being kept in the dark. Everything seemed to be happening to him and he had no control. He was over it. It was time he took matters into his hands.

"What do you mean times running out? What are you not telling us?"

"The lightning strikes at midnight, we've got to set up the wire—" Beetee began when he was cut off by a horrible howl. It sounded like the cross between a beaten dogs cry and the slippery hiss of a snake that dragged on far too long, settling cold fear into the pit of Peeta's stomach.

"What was that?" Prim asked, backing up from the waters edge towards the mouth of the Cornucopia.

Everyone tensed up on high alert. It was a completely new sound, one not heard in the Arena before. Peeta retrieved his bow and arrow and Finnick motioned for everyone to move inward, making us a smaller target. Gale ran over to the Cornucopia and retrieved a pickaxe, something he was greatly familiar with from the mines. Prim now held two small daggers, one in each hand, and more lining her belt.

There were splashes and suddenly terrible beasts launched out of the dark depths of the water as if fired from a cannon. They stood upright like men, but they were covered in black reptilian scales and had long snouts like that of an alligator with serrated teeth. Their eyes glowed a menacing yellow and they moved with an unnerving smoothness like a snake.

Prim screamed as more invaded the beach and charged us. Peeta strung an arrow and fired at the nearest one, taking it down with a shot directly in its open mouth and out the back of its skull.

"We can't fight all of these!" Finnick shouted. "Let's trail the wire and get to the tree. Maybe we can lose them in the jungle."

Everyone turned and ran. Heading towards the nearest two spokes of sand that would lead them to the section of the forest housing the black charred tree. Peeta wasn't sure how much time they had left, less than an hour, but was it enough time to make it to the tree? Adrenaline coursed through his veins spurring him on like the engine of one of the Capitol trains. The chorus of insect noise grew louder as they ran towards the beach ringing the sea and behind them—hot on their tail and never dissipating in sound—were the hissing howls of the muttations. He heard more splashes as they dove back into the water. They were probably just as agile on land as they were in water.

Prim was ahead of Peeta and Beetee close behind. He could hear his labored breaths as he raced to keep up with the younger tributes. He must have been long out of shape since he won his games and Peeta worried he wouldn't be able to keep up. Johanna, Finnick and Gale raced along the sand bar to his right and Peeta kept close track of Gale through his peripherals.

"We have to find Cato!" Prim shouted back to Peeta as they ran.

She was right, but he had made his decision to abandon them and they couldn't waste time with a search party when being chased by Gamemaker mutts sent to kill Gale and them. His eyes caught the sight of movement in the water to his left and he fired an arrow, just barely grazing the mutts snout and landing in its shoulder. It hissed and gurgled in the water, but was soon replaced by another one that swam in its place. Shouts from the others told him they were dealing with the same problem. Mutts were flanking them from either side of the water.

One clawed hand sprung from the water at Peeta and slashed at his leg. Its claws ripped across his kneecap in searing pain. He tripped and fell, only barely hanging on to the sand bar and managing not to fall into the water. The snarling mutt climbed from the water, its snout chomping for a bite of Peeta. He tried to grab another arrow from his sheath on his back, but the mutt was too fast. He kicked with his good leg and landed a hit right to the side of its head. It yelped in pain and then fell dead to the ground between his legs. Peeta breathed a sigh of relief, but couldn't understand how his kick killed it. Then he saw the knife protruding from the back of its skull. Prim.

Looking up to thank her he saw another mutation pull up onto the sand bar between them.

"Run, Prim! Go."

She didn't have to be told twice and quickly ran towards the beach. Snarls, splashes and shouts filled the air as they battled against the onslaught of lizard mutts. Beetee shouted behind Peeta for help and he quickly sprung to his feet, pushing down the fear that lodged itself in his throat like a thick cotton ball. He had to fight. His heat was pounding so hard he could hear each beat clearly in his ears, echoing back and forth.

A lizard mutt was on top of Beetee, but had become tangled in the gold wiring. Beetee must have managed to wrap it around its snout before it could attack. He was very adept at using the tool. It was the only thing keeping him alive, as the lizard couldn't get its jaw open with the wire tightly coiled around it. It raised its clawed hand to slash at him and Peeta dove into action, ripping the dagger from the lizard's head Prim had killed and then charging the mutt atop Beetee. Another mutt tried to attack him from the water and he threw all the power he had behind a kick with his right leg and it hit home right under the snout of the mutt, sending its head springing backward with a terrible snap. Then he dove into the lizard atop Beetee, knocking it off him and brought the dagger up and into the side of the lizard's neck. Green puss oozed out over his hand and a pungent smell filled the air. Peeta gagged. The mutt gurgled and choked on its blood. His heart pulsed brashly against his ribcage. Thwump, thwump. A snarl not unlike the muttations slipped from Peeta's lips.

Standing and pushing the dead lizard mutt with the tip of his foot it fell into the water with a splash, sinking from sight in the dark murky water. Hissing howls sung all around like flutes, threatening to confuse and disorient, but for Peeta it was all crystal clear. Everything was one shade, dulled. Except for the mutts. They shone like beacons in the dark. Training his eyes towards them like insects drawn to the flicker of a flame.

"C'mon Peeta, the others have already reached the beach!"

Peeta struggled back to reality and saw Beetee standing before him wide eyed and fearful, green puss smeared down the side of his neck. What had happened? His head throbbed. Everything was mass confusion. People were screaming for them from the beach.

Suddenly they were running again, Beetee in front of him. Peeta focused on the back of his head. Graying hairs coiled short and tight against the smooth brown skin of his head. He could run faster than this, but Beetee only had one speed. Ahead of him the others stood at the edge of the beach trying to ward off the mutts, but there were so many and they wanted Gale.

"Go! GO! We'll meet at the tree!" Peeta shouted.

His heart stuttered and throbbed in his chest like it was a size too big. It wasn't working properly. He feared the Capitol technology was failing him. He was going crazy.

Finnick and Johanna must have agreed with Peeta's assessment of the situation because they each took hold of Prim and Gale and forced them up the beach and into the line of foliage, mutts hot on their trail hissing and snapping. More lizard like monsters rose up from the water all around Peeta; two behind, one in front. Peeta slowed for one second to take aim over his shoulder and fire an arrow, landing a perfect shot to the heart of the man-like lizard—if it had one. Green blood burst forth over its black scales and it collapsed, dead, the mutt behind it tripping up over its body.

"We've got to leave one end of this coil in the water as a conduit," Beetee forced through his exhausted breath. "Then bring the other end up to wrap around the base of the lightning tree. It's imperative that right before it strikes you need to tie it to your arrow and aim for the—Arg!"

The mutt ahead of them had finally reached Beetee and before he could fling the wire at the thing it had it's claws dug into the side of him and they tipped over, both splashing into the ocean water. Panic clawed at Peeta's insides like the raking of the lizard's talons over his organs. His mind was reeling. So many mutts to kill. Dirty, filthy, evil mutts.

Thwump.

Beetee! He had to help him. Beetee had been trying to tell him something. Something important .His gurgling scream rose up out of the water as he fought with the creature. Peeta wasted not another second, slinging the bow over his shoulder and diving into the water. He pierced the inky black water like a bullet, straight for Beetee and the mutt. He let the warmth of the water calm his fears. He could swim. It was simple just kick and paddle, like Finnick said. Don't think about it.

There was movement all around him, darting in and out of his line of sight in the murky water. Debris carried from the tidal wave floated aimlessly through the water. His eyes burned from the saltiness. His lungs strained for oxygen, but he kicked his feet and swam right into the midst of Beetee and the mutt. He landed a punch to the monster's stomach, but it seemed to do nothing, the weight of the water dulling the impact. He pulled Beetee back and they kicked towards the surface, breaching it with harsh gasps for air. The mutt followed and Beetee's scream rang out across the beach. Blood stained the water around them as it poured from a wound on his shoulder where his flesh hung in tatters. The mutt has slashed him. Peeta pulled an arrow from the case on his back and stabbed at the beast. Then the lens flipped and everything was gray and dull. Monsters were all around him and he knew what to do. He had to kill them. All of them.

Suddenly another mutt pulled them back under the surface. They sank further into the darkness. Shadows were all around. Twigs and leaves swirled about. Nothing was visible. Nothing except for the moon's light reflecting off slimy black scales. He stabbed with the arrow right into the glowing yellow eye of one of the mutts. It screeched and bubbles filled his view. Then another mutt was before him and he slashed with the tip of the arrow at the monster. It would die.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

Stab. Stab. Stab.

The monotony of the task at hand played through his now quiet mind. Blood filled his view. He swallowed some of it down and tasted the bitter salt and slight tang of blood. The lens flipped again. Peeta's head throbbed like it had been bashed over with a skillet. The mutt's blood wasn't red. It was green. Why was there so much red. Peeta couldn't get his head on straight. He was having trouble digesting all his memories. It was a jumble of pain and aggression and cold, calculation. Then the curtain of crimson parted and floating before Peeta was Beetee's mangled body. His face was lifeless and pale; his eyes frozen in a permanent look of horror; his chest littered with puncture marks. But what made Peeta scream and kick for the surface, towards the light, to escape—he had to escape because it wasn't true, it couldn't be! But there was no denying it. It hung in the water before him like a waterlogged ghost.

The arrow Peeta used as a weapon was embedded deep in the soft flesh of Beetee's stomach. Fire coursed through his veins and seared him to his very core, forever scaring him. A mangled scream ripped from Peeta's throat and bubbled out into the water, but it was too late. No one could save him now. Not from what he'd done.

Peeta had murdered Beetee.


	20. Escaping Hell

Ch. 20- Escaping Hell

Suspended in a weightless black ether. Dark, dark, darkness. Nothing existed and everything existed together at the same time. Hell wasn’t a place someone went after they died. It was here, on Earth, in Panem—in Peeta’s mind. It was like a warzone in his head and he couldn’t find reality. A movie reel of images flashed before his eyes: blood floating through moonlit water in wisps like spilled paint, wide terrified eyes, an arrow plunged in and out, in and out, black scales, white talons, yellow eyes—human eyes. It was all jumbled in his head. He had been a muttation. But he wasn’t. He was Beetee. He was going to be sick. He wanted to vomit—to purge everything from his being. He couldn’t breathe. 

A lizard muttation sliced through the water straight for Peeta. He needed to move. His lungs strained for oxygen. Everything burned. His mind screamed for release and his eyes stung from salt and exhaustion; exhausted with being the window to so much blood and gore, death and violence. It was never ending. The mutt swam closer and closer through the black ink water. Maybe if he just closed his eyes, gave them a rest, everything would be better and this hell would end. Did they really need him on the surface anyways?

Wait, no. Prim needs me. Gale needs me. They shouldn’t have to pay for my sins, Peeta realized.

‘Even when it’s hard, listen to your true heart. It will never lead you astray.’

Those puzzling final words Plutarch Heavensbee had left with Peeta at the Victory Tour ball might not have been so crazy after all. Had he foreseen that Peeta would lose himself in this Arena? That he would question his sanity and moral character? What other purpose was there for leaving him with such a cryptic message?

Prim. Cato. Gale. They were his reason to keep moving. They were his heart. They were the reason he had to fight. Fight against the darkness. Even if his mind had been fouled, tainted by evil, they were still in his heart. The love he had for them was real and he would let that guide him. His heart would be stronger than his mind and he would save them; it would save him. For Beetee.

Peeta twisted through the water to the side at the last second and the monster just barely missed clawing his neck. The scaly mutt flipped around, using its tail to propel it back at Peeta, but now he was ready. He dove down, deeper yet into the dark depths of the water. Peeta worried there was no end to this ocean. The mutt followed after him chomping at his feet. Finally, when oxygen deprivation threatened to blacken out everything Peeta saw him float into view like an apparition. 

I’m so sorry, Beetee, Peeta thought before ripping the arrow from his stomach and stealing the gold wire from his cold fingers. Touching him made it real. Made the violence of his mind a reality. But it wasn’t important. Not at the moment. He used the final burst of his energy to kick up towards the surface. The mutt was bearing down on him with its snout wide open, ready to devour him and Peeta steered straight into it. In seconds the jaws would clamp down on Peeta and thrash, breaking him. But Peeta pushed the arrow out before him. It sank right through the open mouth of the monster and out the back of its skull. Its teeth scrapped along Peeta’s arm, lacing it with shallow cuts, but Peeta managed to pull it free from the dead monster. 

The moon hung in the midnight sky above him, warped by the ripple of waves and tinged green by mutt blood—tantalizingly close yet just out of reach. The morning light seemed so far from him now. He would never feel warmth again. The shadows pressed in like a suffocating blanket. Peeta’s lungs felt like they might explode. The pressure in his chest was unbearable. He was all out of energy. He wasn’t going to make it. The edges of his vision grew dark. The muscles in his body tightened and cramped like a vise had clamped down on them, but he couldn’t let it end like this. He couldn’t die a murderer. He refused to let that be his final act in the Hunger Games—in life. And so he dug deep into the resources of his body, deeper than he’d ever gone for that last kernel of energy. Then he kicked up off the body of the dead mutt for the final propulsion towards the surface. 

The feeling of the cool night air on Peeta’s wet skin was like a salve to his broken mind. He gulped down large mouthfuls of air, tasting the blood and stale fear left in the air. But he was alive. Most of the mutts were gone from the beach, off to chase after the survivors. Peeta had to move. He couldn’t take the time to think or he’d lose it. His mind would crack open and everything would spill out into the abyss. Insanity. 

The insects in the final section of the forest before the midnight lightning screeched a chorus of cacophonous clicks as Peeta swam awkwardly to shore. Kick, stroke, kick, stroke. A dull chant in his mind that helped ground him and push back on the parasitic fear that threatened to invade his mind. 

Finally reaching shore, Peeta struggled to lift his body out of the water and onto the shore. He collapsed face first into the white sand of the beach and felt each prickly granule grate against his skin as he pulled forward, further and further out of the water and away from Beetee’s mangled body. Peeta’s body was exhausted. Everything ached like he’d been run over. He focused on his breathing, forcing it to an even keel until it didn’t sound so ravaged and choked. Then he moved one limb at a time. Lifting one arm, then the other, pushing his chest up off the sand. Life slowly returned to his body like the eventual receding of floodwaters. The trauma was over—for now. Then he was up one knee. Pausing as the jungle spun precariously before him. He leaned forward and vomited, but quickly slapped a hand to his face; feeling the sting against his cheeks he forced his other leg up to finally stand. He could do this.

Howls erupted from the forest and then a scream. The mutts had found the others. Peeta was out of time. He pulled the bow from across his shoulder, strung an arrow and then threw out some gold wire behind him into the water before racing forward, leaving a careful trail of the oddly vibrating line behind him. 

The sounds of the bugs directly to his left and the howls of the mutts ahead made it hard for Peeta to locate a position on the others as he raced through the dark jungle. He knew to give a wide berth to the clicking insects. Nothing good could possibly come of straying into that section. Then he heard grunts and hacking sounds up ahead. He dodged around trees and pushed through the palm fronds frantic to reach the others; ignoring the scrapes and bruises he accumulated. He burst onto the scene of a canopied creek and tripped over the hacked body of a muttation. He managed to hang on to the bow, but the arrow he had strung flew from sight. His head collided with a rock and disoriented him. Pain bloomed above his right eyebrow and the vision in his right eye was suddenly clouded as hot blood trickled from the open wound.

Further ahead of Peeta was Johanna, alone and locked in fierce battle with two lizards. There was a slash across her abdomen that was bleeding profusely and she winced each time she threw out her right hand with the battle-axe. The lizards kept feinting forward attacks, almost as if they were toying with her. Their black scales almost camouflaged them in the dark environment of the jungle. Their forked tongues kept dipping out to taste the air. They could tell she was weakened. Peeta had a feeling their plan was to force everyone to separate and kill them off individually. The Capitol made a mistake in letting Gale live and now they were going to correct it and force the end of the Quarter Quell. He bet anything his and Cato’s break up was broadcast fully across the nation along with their struggle now. They probably wanted nothing more than the games to end with Asasia or Enobaria as Victor.

One of the lizards made a sweeping motion with its tail. Johanna jumped, dodging the attack. But that inhibited her from defending against the advance of the other mutt to her left, which lunged. Peeta forced his body up, pushing back the pain and dizziness into the furthest corner of his mind—he’d allow time to deal with it all when this was over, if he made it. He scrambled for another arrow, but he wasn’t going to be quick enough and so he screamed, “Leave her alone,” praying it would be enough to throw the attacking mutt off balance. 

The mutt faltered, his eyes leaving its target for a split second to find the source of the new stimulant: Peeta. In that second Johanna managed to rebalance. Her hand flew through the air in a clean arc and sliced right through the neck of the monster. Its body fell stiff to the side while its head floated down the creak. The other mutt fell dead to the ground with an arrow through the back by Peeta before it could counter. 

Ragged breaths, chirping bugs and the soft trickle of the green tinged stream seemed to drag on for hours rather than seconds as Johanna stared Peeta down from a distance. Then she marched forward, a determined look sharpening her stark features.

“If you’re looking for something to say, you could start with thank—what’re you do—Ow! Get off!” 

Peeta fought against Johanna, but he had so very little energy. She had shoved him to the ground and was now seated on his chest, holding him down. Her eyes held no emotion, cleanly focused on the task at hand. 

“I knew we shouldn’t have trusted you!” Peeta snarled before whimpering in pain as she cut into his forearm with the tip of her axe. 

“Jesus you sure act like a bitch for being the famed Mockingjay,” Johanna snapped. She pulled up off him, done with whatever her task had been and brushed a hand through her short hair. She cleaned the blade of her axe against her leg. Peeta sucked in the breath he had been holding as she cut him and then when he realized she wasn’t going to kill him, stood.

“What the hell was that? And how do you know of my Mockingjay moniker?”

Confused by her behavior, Peeta trailed after her as she took off at a stilted jog. He picked up the fallen arrow and took brief count of how many remained—three—not the most comforting. 

How did she know he was called the Mockingjay? The only time he had ever heard anyone refer to him as that was when he met those girls from Eight on the run for District Thirteen. He cringed just reminded of their brutal execution. They had said the rebels had taken to calling him their Mockingjay. It was a secret way of communicating their alliance. But she—Johanna couldn’t be. Peeta paused in thought to analyze her from behind. She looked like any other Victor. Battle hardened and rough with spiked hair and a sharp frown like she was always trying to scrub the femininity from her persona as if it degraded her.

“I know a lot more than you think. Now where’s Beetee? We’ve got to find the others and do this now.” Johanna said, completely brushing aside his burning curiosity.

Peeta’s feet halted their movements at the mention of Beetee’s name. It was like he’d been gutted. Everything felt hallow. Oh god. What could he say? 

“Oh.” Johanna stopped too. Her eyes fell as she put two-and-two together. But she couldn’t possibly know. It wasn’t that obvious. “That canon fire was his, wasn’t it? The mutts… they got him.”

“Uh—yeah…” Peeta stuttered out breathless. He was surprised by the amount of grief that flashed across her face before she wiped it clean; her ruthless game face firmly back in place. “The—the others though? What happened?”

They started hustling again up a steep incline and Johanna held her unarmed hand to her stomach. The cuts looked deep and painful. It was amazing to Peeta that she was able to move at all. The pain had to be unbearable. He also noticed her arm was bleeding in the same spot as Peeta’s. Where she had cut him. Things were starting to click into place for Peeta, but he still felt like he was missing something fundamental. The bread had meant something. Johanna and Finnick and maybe even Beetee knew something of this rebellion. They kept saying time was running out, but what were they counting down to? The lightning strike? And what was the real purpose of this wire Peeta continued to trail behind them if not to finish off the Careers?

“We were overwhelmed by Mutt’s. There were so many of them. I got separated, I—I don’t know what happened to them, but they’ve got to be close.”

Just as Johanna finished talking Prim’s scream ripped out of the dark and hit Peeta like a sledgehammer. They were near, but still in trouble. Was there an end to this horde of mutts?

“That way!” Johanna pointed and they both took off running.

The jungle began to thin and even out. The charred lightning tree grew in size as they neared its location and that of Prim’s scream. Snarls and howls joined in on the sound as the bugs high-pitched clicking grew to a crescendo. Peeta had an unsettling feeling they were almost out of time. 

“No, Gale, no!” Prim pleaded.

Urging his feet to move faster, Peeta passed Johanna and bolted out onto a wide circular clearing at the top of which stood the charred tree that had been their goal. Then just behind it, shimmering almost invisibly stood the force field that kept all the tributes trapped in the Arena. Prim was shielded behind Finnick who used his trident to fend off the swarm of Mutt’s. Their backs were to the lightning tree and they both had matching cuts to their arms. And then there was Gale running straight into the pack of mutts—there had to be a dozen of them at least.

“You want me, you scaly fuckers? Come and have me!” 

“Gale! What’re you doing?” Peeta shouted. Dropping the wire he charged towards the fight, but he wasn’t going to make it and Gale was going to do something stupid. He knew it. 

The mutts swarmed and slashed at Gale, but he was quick. His lithe, athletic body built for this. He dodged and outmaneuvered them, managing to kill two with his pickaxe. Peeta fired off one arrow and took down another as he raced towards the battle. Peeta saw from his periphery Finnick to the opportunity given to him by Gale to escape with Prim. All of the monstrous lizards howled and hissed in anger as they hounded after Gale. He managed to break out the back of them and he gave one swift look over to Peeta who was still racing towards him. He shook his head, no. There was nothing but longing in his midnight blue eyes, but a stronger urge to protect propelled him on. Peeta knew what he was going to do.

“The bugs, they’re carnivorous! Nothing makes it out of their section alive.” Gale trilled. “Looks like I’ve got that pesky martyr complex now!” He never looked so alive as he did right now, sprinting away into the jungle and towards the shrieking insects, all the mutts now chomping at his tail. The last words he heard before Gale disappeared—possibly forever—were, “I love you Peeta Mellark.”

Peeta wasn’t going to let him do it. This wasn’t his fight. He couldn’t lose him too. Not after everything. But Peeta suddenly flew forward, tackled to the ground from behind before he could chase after Gale. 

“Ger’offme! Gale! GALE!” Peeta shouted into the dirt while trying to throw an elbow back at Finnick. He took it with a grunt but held him pinned to the ground nonetheless. 

“No.” Finnick growled forcefully. “He knows what he’s doing and you know what you have to do.” Finnick lifted Peeta up, but kept him locked in a tight bear hug. “Be the hero I know you can be.”

Peeta wanted to scream until his throat was raw and bleeding. To beat at the ground until his knuckles were bruised and broken. To give up and let the insanity take him because it would be easier than all this: all this hurt and sacrificing and caring so damn much. 

Except Finnick was right. He needed to fight. To be the hero everyone thought he was—more so now than ever after what he did to Beetee. 

“I don’t know what you all want from me…” Peeta groaned, letting the tears slip down his cheeks freely now.

“To do what you know is right,” Finnick said. “Johanna is tying the wire to the tree. I’m sure by now you get it. What’s at stake here…”

If everyone wasn’t so damn cryptic then maybe Peeta could get it, but right now it was all too much and his head throbbed and his heart ached. Soon that bridge would break. Crumble into little bits and he’d never feel that connection again. It had already happened once today. It was too much. Finnick let go of him tentatively, but when Peeta didn’t run he left him be for the moment. Peeta looked up at the sky and the stars. They were always brightest at midnight. 

Midnight…

‘It begins at midnight.’ It begins at midnight. What if Plutarch had been trying to say something else? Something besides the Arena was laid out like a clock? What if he was trying to signal that the beginning of whatever they’d been working towards in this Arena, whatever Johanna and Finnick seemed to know, started at the stroke of midnight? Someone was helping the rebels Gale had said. A mysterious group with connections, it would make sense if they were Capitol defectors working secretly to help the Districts. Who else would have connections to supplies and insider info?

It dawned on Peeta. At midnight something will happen and I can either be a part of it or fail in passivity

The shrill screech of the bugs skyrocketed. It was a frenzy of terrible howls and noises that felt like needles piercing at Peeta’s eardrums. He had to block from his mind the images those sounds threatened to conjure up. He couldn’t think about that now or his heart would truly fail him. Not even the pacemaker could keep it beating. The insect sounds then ceased just as abruptly like a song cut off in the middle of its climax and the bells started tolling. The first of which was like a shock of ice to his system. The lightning would strike just after the twelfth bell. The time to act was now. He knew what he had to do. It all clicked into place like the fitting together the last piece of the puzzle. The wire. The lightning tree. Johanna’s worry about time running out. Cutting out everyone’s tracker. Beetee’s insistence on tying the wire to his arrow. At midnight, it begins at midnight.

The barrier was right there. If he aimed and fired at the perfect moment maybe he could bring the whole thing down. They could all escape. It was as if all the fog had cleared and he could see the whole land laid out before him perfectly. How everything fit together and exactly where his place was with in that world. Maybe he was going crazy, but he could still try to save everyone. He could still make one final act of rebellion and let the world of Panem know he stood with them in their fight.

He was a rebel. He would defy the Capitol’s control yet again. 

He would be the Mockingjay. 

Turning and running towards the charred trunk of the tree Peeta realized something was off. 

A third bell tolled. 

At the foot of the tree Peeta found Johanna face down and unmoving in a pool of dark liquid; the wire still clutched in her right hand. There was only one explanation for that. Peeta plucked the wire from Johanna’s hand—his heart hammering in his chest—and raced around the base of the massive tree, tying the wire to one of his two remaining arrows and stringing the bow. He stuttered to a stop on the other side of the tree to find none other than Asasia and Enobaria. Finnick was pinned by Enobaria to the ground by his trident. Enobaria beamed a wicked razor toothed smile as she dug the tip of the trident in to the flesh of Finnick’s neck. There was no sanity to be found in her eyes. Finnick gasped through her clenched jaw and blood trailed down his neck. Rage boiled in Peeta’s veins. Was that what the future held for him? Beside her stood Asasia, legs splayed over Prim’s crumpled form and her spiked club raised high, ready and willing to end another life.

“I’ve finally learned my lesson, Peeta,” Asasia confessed. 

Her beetle black eyes sneered triumphantly towards him and he felt a stab of icy hate in his stomach. He had never wanted someone more dead than he wanted her. He trained his bow and arrow on her, but he couldn’t fire it for the wire attached to it held the key to all of their survival. A fifth bell tolled. Finnick groaned in pain as Enobaria clucked gleefully—pinching her tongue between her razor teeth until blood welled up. She pulled the trident up, taking aim, and held down on Finnick’s stomach with her foot. 

There where only two arrows left. Peeta couldn’t possibly save both of them and destroy the force field. He felt trapped, like some caged animal. Everything in him screamed to be released. Maybe he’d always been. Caged in by the Capitol, by Snow, and now he was slowly losing his mind from the deprivation; growing more frenzied and violent by the day in his bid for freedom. 

“And what’s that?” Peeta asked. His tongue felt thick and his throat raw. His hand crept around his back towards the last arrow. An eighth toll of the bell sounded out and he could feel the static electricity building in the air. His hair began to stand on end. He had to decide now because the lightning was coming. Either fire his last two arrows in quick succession and save his friends or save one and launch the wired arrow at the barrier. But how could he choose? Prim didn’t deserve to die and Finnick deserved someone to fight for him. It wasn’t fair.

“Strike first, gloat later.” 

Asasia right bicep bulged, every muscle tensing for a killing blow, and then she swung downward with so much force she was sure to obliterate Prim’s face. Prim screamed—finally coming too—as Enobaria simultaneously brought down the trident on Finnick. Peeta had a split second to act and so he let the wired arrow drop to the ground. 

A tenth bell sounded. 

There was a crackle in the air above them.

Peeta’s hand flew like a bullet. His last arrow sliced through the air with perfect accuracy. The eleventh bell sounded at the same time that the cannon fired, twice in rapid succession. 

BOOM, BOOM!

Asasia was dead before she hit the ground, an arrow embedded directly between the eyes. Next to her fell Enobaria’s lifeless body—her stomach eviscerated. Standing over her, with wildly dark brown eyes was a panting and bloody Cato. His sword dripped with freshly spilt blood. Prim remained frozen on the ground in shock or horror, or both. But Peeta didn’t have time to feel anything. The twelfth bell had just sounded out.

Peeta flung out his to snatch the arrow with the wire from the ground. His fingers fumbled numb and suddenly inept. A roar of static sounded above him. He pulled the bow taught with the arrow. Then Peeta swung to face the barely shimmering force field, closed his eyes and fired. The insides of his eyelids lit up red as lightning blossomed in the sky above, shooting down to strike the tree with a giant CRACK. Then he opened them and watched. It had worked! Where the arrow had struck molten red lines spider-webbed across the night sky. It looked like the sky itself were about to crack open and an apocalypse would rain down upon them—the gates of hell literally opening before them.

BOOM!

It sounded like the firing of the canon, except infinitely louder and fired right next to Peeta’s ear. It reverberated across the entire Arena. The force field ripped apart and the sound wave knocked Peeta sprawling backwards. He rolled over and pushed up on his hands, looking over to see Cato had shielded himself atop Prim. She was screaming, he could tell by the set of her face and her wide-open mouth but he couldn’t hear it. Peeta latched on to Cato’s eyes and held them. There was no more hate in them like earlier. Instead they were replaced with a look of awe and he felt a glimmer of hope. Then another sound wave erupted over them and knocked Peeta’s hands out from under him—dropping him back to the dirt.

Looking up Peeta watched as the last of the force field fizzled away into non-existence. Finnick stirred and they both tried to stand, only to be knocked back down by another blast. The force field was gone, but why couldn’t they get back up on their feet? It was then that Peeta saw it. Two silver hovercrafts in the night sky, almost like two blotches of liquid steel swimming through the stars. It was almost beautiful. Then bullets erupted from both of them, shooting across the sky like falling stars, burning red as they broke through the atmosphere. They burst apart in a shower of sparks just before touching the metal of the other hovercraft. They had shields too.

Peeta didn’t understand what was happening. Then the apocalypse really began. Fire rained down from the sky and explosions erupted all around. They shook the ground with the force of an earthquake and made it nearly impossible to run. But Finnick managed to get to his feet and scrambled towards Peeta. He waved Finnick off.

“No! Get Johanna, I’m not sure she’s really dead!” Peeta ordered. “We have to get out of here.”

On shaky legs Peeta got to his feet and spread them wide to brace against the explosions. One went off at the edge of the clearing, raining jungle debris and dirt all around them. Smoke grew thick in the clearing and it became hard to see. Hard to breath.

The sound of the two hovercrafts above them doing battle was all he could hear. It was like being launched into the middle of a massive combat zone. Missiles exploded in midair and gunfire spit in rapid succession like the buzzing of mechanical insects. Peeta ran towards Cato and Prim. She was still screaming, covered in dirt, but preferable to the blood he first saw her in earlier that evening. Bullets sprayed the ground right before Peeta could reach them and he skidded to a stop, turning and running in the other direction. One of those hovercrafts was aiming to kill them. A missile screeched through the air above Peeta. He ducked and was blown forward by the blast, the charred lightning tree behind him blown to splinters. Some embedded in his back and he cried out in pain. 

Through the smoke and dust Peeta caught a glimpse of something moving. Another bomb went off somewhere and Peeta’s body jolted with the movement of the earth. He pushed himself up, adrenaline buzzing and blood pumping. It was pure chaos. Terror and panic overwhelmed him as he ran. Then he saw something. He had to rub his eyes. He was seeing a ghost. The smoke was thick, but it thinned just enough before him that he thought he saw Gale. He was covered with red welts and bites, but alive. Then he evaporated from view as the smoke thickened and fouled. 

The air smelled like sulfur and burning wood. Everything was bathed in a flickering orange glow. Fire burned all around them. Someone was shouting Peeta’s name. But everything was too loud. The roar of the hovercraft engines, the bombs and bullets blotted out all other distinguishable sounds. But Peeta focused, trying to pinpoint the location of the shouting. He had to find the others. They had to escape this Arena. They had quite literally just thrust themselves into the middle of the war and nowhere was safe at the moment.

Thinking they were to his left Peeta picked up and ran towards them. Bullets splattered the ground he had just left behind. There was another boom like the cracking of the force field earlier, but this one on a much smaller scale. Then a bomb dropped directly to Peeta’s left and he was blown sideways. The world twisted. He screamed in agony he’d never felt before. It was a pain so strong that everything else by comparison in his life wasn’t really pain, it was only masquerading as that to trick him into thinking he knew what real pain was so that when he really did feel it he was unprepared. His body felt like it was ripped apart by fire. His very veins flowed with molten lava and his vision burned red.

Another explosion sounded—this one the biggest yet. Peeta was on his back and he had a perfect view up at the sky. Smoke billowed around him, tinted orange by flames. But it thinned above him and he saw one of the silver hovercrafts was on fire. It blew apart in the sky like the shattering of a mirror before crashing down in pieces to the left of Peeta’s eye line. Then everything went silent. Peeta could no longer feel anything. The smoke grew too thick and blackened out everything. Or maybe it was just Peeta slipping into unconsciousness. Peeta knew there was a high probability he wouldn’t wake up, but the relief he felt as his mind went dark and his body went numb was enough to sooth any woes he might have had about dying. At least now he could die having done one last heroic act. Maybe it would turn the tides of the rebellion. But most of all he just hoped it gave those he loved the opportunity to escape this hell.


	21. District 13

**Part III : The Fire Consumes**

“And thus I clothe my naked villainy

With odd old ends stol’n out of holy writ;

And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.”

-William Shakespeare (Richard III)

  

* * *

 

 

Ch. 21- District 13

 

Numb. Everything was numb.

 

Blank. Everything was blank.

 

Nothing felt real.

 

Something essential was missing. A part of him broke and was now lost. It was lost somewhere in the destruction of the Arena.

 

No, that wasn’t true. It had happened before then. Something to do with… no that was a name he couldn’t think—wouldn’t think. Everything came back to that name, it always had, always will. He pushed it all down, cramming it with all his strength into the deepest, darkest corner where he could ignore it like everything else he’d been through. But in reality it just festered away, like an untreated wound until it fouled, turning on him and corrupting everything healthy and whole—darkening his spirit and polluting his heart.

 

Cato sat stalk still and blank faced. He was harnessed in to one of the seats of the hovercraft as it banked sharp to the right. It hurtled through the night sky at an unknown speed to an unknown location and he couldn’t be bothered to care. They were alive. Well mostly. The Quarter Quell was over and he had escaped the Arena alive. But none of it meant anything. It hung meaningless in the vacant space of his mind like a lure dangling uselessly in the middle of a dead sea.

 

Lyme and Haymitch sat across from them, buckled in and involved in serious discussions. He’d never seen Lyme so lively. She was built for times like these. War. It brought her to life. People raced about the cargo space in a wild frenzy, prepping for imminent landing, shouting orders, arguing. There was that name again. Cato flinched and looked to his right. Prim was passed out in the seat next to him, her hand clutched to his thigh. She was crying in her sleep. Tear marks streaked down her face and shone in the dim light. Her face was pale and exhausted; hair tangled into knots. So young and so innocent looking despite the strength that he knew resided inside of her. Something inside Cato warmed at the sight of her. But then he was reminded all over again of everything he’d lost. That heavyset man’s words began to play over again and he quickly shoved them aside, back in the festering corner. It was better not to feel—just to shut down. If he didn’t feel then there was nothing more they could take from him. He had a flash memory back to that beach under the sea of stars: the engagement ring, heavy like a rock in his palm, lobbed at those glistening blue eyes, taking with it some essential piece of him.

 

The name he couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, and yet was always present. Peeta, the boy who started it all with one selfless act, to save a young child from the horrors of the Hunger Games, changed everything. He changed the course of history. He changed Cato’s destiny. The first time he saw that tentative and inviting smile in the Opening Ceremony and it was all over. He knew a love like that would burn to hot and consume them both, but he hadn’t cared. There had been a clock counting down on his life anyways. He was an idiot, but he thought it was worth the risk. Then the nation changed around them and everything became so much more…

 

More complicated, dangerous, duplicitous.  

 

Light began to filter in through the porthole windows on the side of the hovercraft. The sun was beginning to rise in the east. Soon its yellow rays would settle across a scorched and barren landscape. Everything had changed over the course of one dark night. He couldn’t keep the feelings at bay any longer. Everything began to filter back in and there was nothing he could do. His blank stare soon burned with tears he refused to shed because then it meant he accepted it. And he wouldn’t, couldn’t.

 

That heavyset man was a liar. There was no other explanation.

 

The bombs had dropped all around. He thought for sure they were all dead. He didn’t quite understand what Peeta had done until the hovercrafts appeared, doing battle in the night sky. Peeta had destroyed the force field that held them all trapped in the Quarter Quell. He had given them an out, but also thrust them into the middle of war. Even after everything Peeta still strived to put others before himself. Why couldn’t Cato do that? Instead he had pushed the only person he’d ever loved away until he ran into the arms of another. It was his fault. All of it, because he couldn’t just trust that their love was strong enough. And in the end his doubts proved to be self-fulfilling.

 

But then Cato remembered the image—seared to the surface of his brain like a brand—of Peeta kissing Gale. It was desperate and needy and Cato couldn’t remember the last time Peeta had looked at him with need like that. A fury coiled low in his belly. The darkness was spilling over from that dark corner. He wanted nothing more than to break every limb on Gale—feel the snapping of bone and hear his sharp cries of pain. For daring to touch what was his. He would break those hands that held his Peeta; he would beat that face until it was unrecognizable for thinking it could look on his Peeta with out consequence.

 

Cato had to stop. He had to cleanse his mind. These were paths that only lead him back to where it all began, when he started to lose Peeta. _Fuck!_

 

The armrest of his seat cracked as he slammed his fist against it. Prim hiccupped and twisted in her seat, sleeping fretfully. Cato had to calm. He needed to find peace…

 

It was an information overload. The hovercraft belonged to District 13? Impossible. They had been destroyed. The district was uninhabitable, toxic. And yet the proof was all around him: soldier uniforms with D13 patches stitched onto their uniforms; the fact that they were alive and not currently being tortured by the Capitol, used in some wicked fashion to end the uprising. And that was another shock. While they fought for their lives in the games the country fought for its very freedom—and for them.

 

Cato was ready to end their lives rather than let them fall into the hands of the Capitol again. The heavyset man was from the Capitol. Cato remembered him talking to Peeta once. He was the head Gamemaker—Heavenly or something. He had ushered them onto the craft with promises to answer all their questions, but they had to get moving immediately. Only when Lyme and Haymitch had appeared at the mouth of the hovercraft did he believe. And then Heavensbee (that was it) explained everything. Until Cato couldn’t hear anymore and fell back in this very seat, blank faced and frozen like a broken computer screen. Prim had collapsed in sobs in the seat next to him until sleep gave her limited reprieve.

 

War had broken out after Peeta’s Mockingjay costume. The Districts couldn’t stand by any longer and abet the Capitol’s evil. So they took arms. District Thirteen began helping them, providing support and weapons. Plutarch worked from inside the Capitol to ensure the set up of the Arena provided an exit strategy and that they would be waiting to rescue them with this hovercraft they stole. The Capitol’s retribution was swift and terrible. All remaining victors were ordered executed and a bombing raid obliterated District Twelve.

 

“Prepare for emergency landing.” A crisp feminine voice spoke over the crackly intercom. The commotion reached a pitched frenzy as people struggled to tie down things knocked loose in battle. Electrical wire sparked from torn open ceiling panels and there was the faint smell of smoke in the air. Cato worried this old thing would break apart before they had a chance to touch down. He had heard one of the mechanics mention all the escape pods except one were damaged. They would all go down with this hunk of metal. Thankfully—or not depending on how Cato looked at things—it held together as they made a jolting impact with the landing pad.

 

As soon as they touched down medical personnel zoomed down the corridor with two gurneys. One was Peeta, the other Johanna. Haymitch jogged after them. Cato felt a tug on his heart, an invisible force pulling him to follow. This was all too reminiscent of his return from the first Hunger Games. The frantic medics, a dying Peeta, shock that they both had made it out alive, and yet it was miles removed from that time. Looking back it almost seemed simpler. Easier. Now the love was tainted. The world changed. Darker, if possible. Hope seemed so far from reach. Like those nights when he’d watch hovercrafts test their first flight from the top of the Nut and he’d dreamt of escaping in one far away from his father and expectations; visible hope, yet completely unattainable from his point of view.

 

“Are we there?” Prim slurred with exhaustion, rubbing her eyes with crooked fists.

 

“Yeah, hurry and move, we should follow Peet—them to the medic bay.”

 

Prim’s noticed his stutter, but said nothing. Her eyes were still bloodshot and swollen from tears. More were on the verge. Finnick fell in line beside him and they hurried down the ramp into a vast military complex. Everything was dull steel and chrome. The loading bay was massive; two stories tall, with armed forces racing to great them and help unload. Hundreds of armed soldiers training in the distance stood at salute and watched as everyone disembarked. Trucks and a few tanks lined the back wall. Gun turrets marked the entrance with two sentries on watch.

 

Maybe with District Thirteen’s help they did stand a chance.

 

It didn’t matter.

 

“Now, now. Don’t go running off with out an escort. You’ll get lost in a second!” Plutarch huffed as he waddled up behind them, Lyme close behind. They still had yet to speak to each other. Cato didn’t know what he would say to her, he felt betrayed. She had kept so much secret it seemed. Why had she felt he couldn’t be trusted to know she was working with the rebellion?

 

Prim eyed Plutarch warily, but Cato couldn’t be bothered to care. He could see the bay doors through which the medics had rushed and he felt a burning need to be there.

 

“Well then please, escort us to our friends. We need to be there.” Finnick said. It slipped out of him like a ghost had spoken it and not really him.

 

“Oh yes, right. Of course. Follow us. They are being taken straight into surgery. It may be a bit.”

 

“Just get us there.” Cato snapped. He felt the muscles of his arms tensing and he forced in a deep breath.

 

Plutarch took the lead with a District Thirteen escort. He obviously didn’t know where to go, but didn’t want to seem like it. His Capitol aides trotted behind in bright exuberant fashions—one had silver flowers tattooed on her cheeks—talking at high speeds about all sorts of things related to the rebellion. One name kept cropping up that Cato noticed—Coin. President Coin.

 

They moved down one hallway to the next, then down an elevator four flights. As they hurried to the medical facilities anyone they crossed paths with would halt what they were doing and stare. It was a feeling Cato had grown accustomed too, but usually it was mistrust from those at home or fan obsession and lust from Capitol groupies. Instead these people all watched them with wide eyes full of respect. Cato blocked it out.

 

They reached a door with a white cross emblem on it and Cato pushed through it ahead of Plutarch and everyone else. He prepped for the worst—images of Peeta separated from him by glass, frantic doctors and electric rods jammed in an open chest—but it was only a waiting area. Haymitch argued with two medics, demanding to be with Peeta. A television played in one corner.  It was a news report from the Capitol. War torn sceneries flashed across the screen: piles of dead bodies littered the streets of Eight while factories burned out of control in the background, smoke turning the sky black; gunfire popped as white uniformed Peacekeepers advanced through the stockyards of Six on a rebel contingent; women and children covered in grime and blood ran screaming for refuge in Eleven, explosions in the distance. Then the image switched to President Snow. He stood at a white podium in a dark plum suit, grave faced—as if he actually cared that his country was being torn apart by war, brother turning on brother.

 

“…Our country has been through this bloodshed before. It was a hard lesson to learn, but we have learned we are stronger as a whole then when divided. Much like the interconnected pieces of a machine, we are each a necessary part of the whole. Separated we are useless. Together we are great. With out the districts, with out the Capitol, the other cannot exist. We must not listen to the lies of these terrorists. They wish for nothing more than us to burn.” Snow looked directly into the camera lens with an icy blue stare. “Yet if we burn, everyone burns.”

 

Then the image switched to District Two. It was Victor’s row and every house burned, bright orange flames licking at the sky. The screen then flipped to District Twelve, nothing but smoldering ruins.

 

A sob broke free from Prim behind Cato as he stared at the television in shock. It was the confirmation he needed to believe Heavensbee’s words but he still couldn’t process it. He felt as if he was going to be sick. A cold sweat broke out on his body, his head burned, his stomach churned.

 

Lyme came to his side and tried to usher him to a seat, “I know this is—“ but he flung her hands off him, interrupting and hissing, “Don’t.”

 

Lyme’s eyes sharpened, she had little patience for disrespect, but she said nothing.

 

“Turn that off!” Plutarch barked, raging towards an unsuspecting medic, his hands flailing ineffectually. “I demand, who allowed that to play? Have some common sense people.”

 

No one answered. Plutarch huffed then turned back to one of his assistants with the tattooed cheeks and muttered something, his eyes flitting over to where Cato sat with the others. Cato only heard snippets. “…No one else comes in…it’s vital that… of the highest priority…”

 

Then he turned and walked over to them. “I apologize on my behalf. You shouldn’t have been subjected to those images. I shall be going in to the operating room with Peeta. I brought with me one of the best physicians from the Capitol and I’d like to oversee his progress, as soon as we know anything we will let you all know.”

 

It was odd that Plutarch would go in to the operating room. What could he do but get in the way? Cato wanted to argue, but he just couldn’t find the strength. The flaming ruins of his old home seared on his retina. There was nothing to be done anyways but wait.

 

“And Johanna?” Finnick asked. He was seated next to Prim across from Cato and looked pale. His naturally pretty face worn down and sickly looking, his eyes a murky green.

 

“She is also being afforded the best of treatment. Have no doubts, my friends.”

 

Plutarch nodded, it was a jerky motion, and quickly marched towards another door leading further in to the medical complex. Haymitch still stood before it trying to get his way in. Plutarch stopped to speak with him, but Cato couldn’t hear what was said. Whatever it was seemed to assuage Haymitch, because he gave up the fight and came over to the chairs everyone was seated in, plopping in one and dropping his chin to his chest, hair covering his eyes. The excitement was over and everyone fell back into silence.

 

One minute or one hundred later there was a commotion at the door and Cato turned to watch. Gale burst through with two women in white trailing behind him, pulling at him with white gloves and squawking indignantly.

 

“I said I’m fine!” Gale shouted gruffly, obviously fed up with his caretakers. His skin practically glowed red, but it was changing rapidly before his eyes—back to its natural gold tan. Whatever had happened to Gale the treatment given to him back on the ship seemed to take quick effect. “Get off me already. Where’s Peeta? Somebody just fucking tell me where he is!”

 

Cato’s blood turned hot in his veins. He had never been fully convinced that he could trust the man and now he was vindicated in his mistrust. Something inside him awoke back on that beach and it reared its ugly head again. It was dark and cold, sucking all the warmth from his heart. There was a rushing in his ears and then everything went blank. Cato’s knuckles cracked as he pushed off the chair and stormed across the sterile white tile floor. Before he knew what he was doing he was throwing a punch at the side of Gale’s head. His thick fist connected solidly to the side of Gale’s temple. It caught him off guard so completely that he fell backwards, sprawled on the ground. A bruise was already forming on the side of his face.

 

“C’mon, get up you coal scum!” Cato bellowed. Gale looked up at Cato stunned. “Let’s finish what we started or are you unable to face me like a man with out Peeta here to defend you?”

 

Cato scuttled forward and swung out a kick with his right leg at Gale’s stomach. Before it connected Gale cried out savagely and caught it with both hands lifting up and knocking Cato off balance. He fell backwards onto his ass. They were both on the floor now and Gale scrambled at Cato, giving a kneecap to his side. Cato was in a blind rage, practically unable to see or hear, just moving on instinct. He launched into Gale and pounded into any inch of skin he could find—each crush of bone against flesh only feeding the needy quest in his mind for blood.

 

Then suddenly they were both ripped apart by a host of guards. Cato fought against his captors in a fit of insanity. Vile, hateful things spewed from his mouth as he kicked up off the floor and tugged against the arms of his restrainers. It wasn’t until he was pinned to the ground and Lyme’s nose was within an inch of touching his, her pale eyes outraged and forcing contact that he stopped.

 

“Pull yourself together, Ryves. This country is at war. Peeta could be dying and Prim doesn’t need to see this. Your wounded pride is the last thing anybody needs to deal with. I expect more from you.” Lyme spoke to him. Her voice was even and barely above a whisper, but filled with some much disgust it stung like her words were sparks of electricity that spattered across his face. A wave of shame fell over him and he nodded. She stood and looked at the guards. “You can release him now.”

 

Cato took a beat before standing, fighting to banish the monster that awoke inside him back to its cage. Once on his feet he realized there was a much larger crowd in the medic bay than before the fight. Gale was already over in a seat being offered an ice pack. Prim was standing just behind Haymitch and he wanted to move to her, but the look of fear on her face—directed at him—was enough to feed a lifetime of self-loathing for Cato. He was disgusted with himself. What was he becoming? No wonder Peeta left him for the arms of another man. He dragged a hand over his face and stepped backwards.

 

“Now that that’s all over, it’s time to introduce you to the woman in charge of it all. She orchestrated your rescue with Heavensbee and is now so kind as to offer you and all our remaining kind refuge here in District Thirteen.” Lyme supplied, offering with a curt hand gesture between Cato towards one of the new arrivals. She was a woman in her mid-fifties due to the gray hair that hung in straight sheets to her shoulders. Heavily armed men flanked her on both sides and she had a gun holstered to her belt. She looked hardened from the years of isolation and constant fear of death imposed on District Thirteen.

 

“Cato Ryves this is President Alma Coin.”

 

The President of the District he had heard people talk about so much. Cato straightened his back and moved forward to shake her hand. He stood there looking like a fool for a second as President Coin studied him with narrowed eyes. They were a harsh grey, like all the color had been leached from them. Then she took his hand in hers. It was a tight and quick grip.

 

“So, you’re Peeta’s fiancé, the other half of the Mockingjay.” President Coin spoke with a way that made Cato feel as if she towered over him. She wielded her authority like a hammer. “I’m hard pressed to see what he finds so great in you.”

 

“I am too, might be why we broke up.” Cato couldn’t help himself from tossing back. Her lips tightened like one large wrinkle, but she said nothing further. It seemed like that was news to her and Cato couldn’t help but smirk. She did not look happy to be so misinformed.

 

President Coin introduced the man to her right as Boggs. He was a big intimidating looking man, but Cato could see he was nothing more than her puppet. President Coin took the time to introduce herself to Prim and Finnick also before shaking hands with Haymitch. Cato wandered back over to the chairs, choosing the one furthest down from Gale. He sat and glowered over at the congregation of others.

 

“Have you heard any word on Peeta, President Coin?” Haymitch asked with tight restraint. Cato couldn’t tell what he was restraining, but there seemed to be a lot of emotions bubbling just beneath the surface of his haggard face.

 

Prim looked up between the adults expectantly, desperate for information too. Finnick was still blank faced and standing numbly to the side, almost as if he had forgotten where he was. It finally hit Cato. He’d lost something too and was trying to process it with as little success as Cato.

 

“None yet. That is why I’m here. I’ve been informed Plutarch has gone into the operating room. That is a clear violation of protocol.” President Coin obviously ran a tight ship and thrived on control and information. Her biggest fears were probably disorder, disobedience and faulty intelligence—like Cato and Peeta still being engaged.

 

“Yes he wanted to oversee the doctor he brought back from the Capitol with him.”

 

“Is the doctor someone we can trust?”

 

“I hope so. Plutarch has given me no reason to doubt him, he got us all here alive and safe so far.”

 

Haymitch seemed to be trying to convince himself of the fact more than he was President Coin. She was inclined to agree and departed from the group.

 

“I shall be going in to check on our Mockingjay and speak with Plutarch. Everyone will remain here.”

 

Boggs followed her to the door before turning and standing guard with the other two officers. It was extremely odd Cato realized. He had always dreamed of escaping the Capitol, finding a place where he and Peeta could live together, safe from persecution. And yet here they were and it was all wrong. They had escaped, but to what?

 

More time passed. Minutes bled to hours. It was excruciating. No one spoke. Food was brought around at some point. They barely touched it. The television droned in the background, still on the same channel even after Plutarch’s outburst. Prim snored lightly in her sleep, curled in what couldn’t possibly be a comfortable position on the chair. Finnick stared vacantly at the wall across from him. Gale chewed his nails, the ice pack melting in the empty seat next to him. Cato sniffed and adjusted in the uncomfortable chair. It was so tense in the room the very air felt brittle and breakable. Finally the door guarded by Boggs opened and President Coin marched out in tight, quick strides. Her face was a mask of neutrality.

 

“Haymitch.”

 

He quickly rose from his seat and went up to her. Cato and Gale both stood at the same time to follow and then stalled, making tense eye contact. Before they could do anything Haymitch disappeared behind the doors. Boggs escorted President Coin out before they could ask anything.

 

Prim stirred awake and moved restlessly in her chair, stretching out the kinks in her neck. She looked at Cato before averting her eyes. He felt another twinge of guilt. She asked for an update, but they had nothing to report. Cato could barely speak. His throat was so constricted with worry it was like trying to talk around a rock he’d swallowed and lodged in his throat. Gale moved in next to her, throwing an arm around her shoulder and informing her Haymitch had been allowed in. Cato bristled.

 

“That’s good then… right?” Prim looked around at the room, but no one had answers for her. Cato didn’t know. The lack of information was worrisome. There had been so many explosions. He hadn’t actually seen what happened to Peeta. Just the blood trail left behind when he was loaded on the hovercraft. Finnick had told Cato he tried to go to him, but Peeta ordered him to help Johanna. Typical Peeta. Always putting others first. Except when it came to them…

 

Abruptly Cato pushed away from his chair and stormed away from the others. He couldn’t take it anymore. He began pacing a line into the tiled floor, losing his mind to the monotony of his steps. Seven forward. Seven back. Over and over. Head down. Eyes unblinking until everything blurred, everything melding together. Then his body forced a blink on him and it started over. More minutes passed. _What could be taking so long?_

 

Just when it was all about to overwhelm him and the walls were on the verge of collapsing, everything that they held in exploding outward, Haymitch walked back through the doors.

 

Everyone shot up and moved in on him like a herd of hungry cattle charging their master, knowing it was dinnertime and they were finally going to be taken care of.

 

“Haymitch, what happened in there?”

 

“What’s the word?”

 

“Peeta—is he…is he alright?”

 

“Just tell us already.”

 

They all spoke at once, inundating Haymitch. He held up a hand and took a step back as if buffeted by a wave. He looked grim. More worn out and beat down than Cato had ever seen before, even at his worst most drunken moments on the Victory Tour. Cato didn’t like that look. He couldn’t handle it. He was about to turn away, unwilling to accept the news about to be delivered when—

 

“He’s going to live.”

 

Sighs of relief escaped all around Cato. He should have felt that release too. The boulder that had settled over his chest removed, but instead he fretted more, the weight growing. Haymitch wasn’t saying something.

 

What happened in that operating room?

 

* * *

 

_Is my mind trustworthy?_

 

Peeta didn’t know what to think anymore. So much had changed in a matter of days. But the ultimate question that lingered over his mind was could he trust it? Could others?

 

Tossing and turning in the starchy sheets of the hospital bed, Peeta fought for control against the dark. It would be so easy now to just give in to it, to let it take him. District Twelve was annihilated, his family dead, all those innocent people…just gone. No one would blame him. They’d say it was post-traumatic stress disorder; he’d dealt with so much its no wonder his mind didn’t give out earlier. But that was the easy way out.

 

His mind still reeled when he thought back to that first moment, waking to find he was in district Thirteen and alive. President Coin was an intriguing woman and he wasn’t sure yet what his opinion of her was. And then there was everything else… Plutarch Heavensbee believed in him and Haymitch would support him in anything. He didn’t know if he could do it. It was too much and yet apropos. He was the boy on fire, the Mockingjay. He had finally accepted that title and he couldn’t turn it down now.

 

_It’s the only thing I have left to me._

The drugs still flowed heavy in his system and it was hard to tell how much time had passed since those meetings. Time bled together and waking moments blurred with his dreams: a nurse checking the dosage of his medicine became his mother harassing him for ruining a cake he had decided to decorate for the Harvest festival; Haymitch whispering in his ear, begging almost, the begging turning to an accusing Beetee, ‘You’re a killer!’ He berated until Peeta woke sweating and crying out in pain.

 

“My leg! My leg!” Peeta sobbed, grabbing out for warm flesh and feeling only the cold metal of his prosthetic left leg that began at mid-thigh.

 

It was foreign and didn’t belong to him. He wished to reject it. He didn’t want anymore Capitol related constructions in his body, but he couldn’t fight this one. Not if he ever wanted to walk again.

 

Then it hit him anew. He was crippled. He was no longer whole. His family was gone—his father, his brothers, even his mother. His home was gone. His lover lost to him. Johanna next to him, undisturbed by his wailing in her medically induced coma.

 

The medic had rushed in and administered a stronger dose of morphling and he was swept back under stormy gray clouds of sleep.

 

Evening light, bright and golden, spilled in through the narrow windows placed into the wall near the ceilings. Peeta assumed that most of this building was underground, along with the rest of District Thirteen. It was how they had survived for this long with out being killed by the Capitol. He had been awake and coherent for most of the day for the first time in a while and they were going to allow visitors. He learned it had been three days now since the events in the Quarter Quell. War still raged, District Twelve was still in ruins, the engagement ring still on his ring finger, the other on the bedside table next to him.

 

The door creaked open and in walked Prim. She looked good. Healthy and clean and unscathed, if not apprehensive; her bottom lip worried between her teeth until Peeta held out a hand to her.

 

“Prim…”

 

She then ran to the side of his bed, her feet quietly padding across the tile, and awkwardly gripped him over the side of the bed. He hugged back as fiercely as he could, planting his head in her hair and breathing in the clean smell of strawberries. It was done up in braids like Katniss used to do for her before school. And that was it for him. He couldn’t hold back and neither could she. The tears welled hot and fresh in his eyes. They were all that was left of District Twelve. Prim chocked back sobs as she squeezed his torso tight between her arms.

 

“They’re all dead Peeta!” Prim wailed into his chest. Peeta stroked and coddled her, trying to give her what remained of his strength, but he feared it wasn’t enough.

 

A noise, the soft intake of breath, a gasp almost, alerted Peeta to another’s presence. He looked up from Prim’s hair, still clutching her close, tears streaking his heated cheeks. Then a moan of joy slipped from his throat and fresh tears spilt over his lashes. Gale was alive. It hadn’t been a ghost. He was whole and safe and in District Thirteen with Peeta. Despite all the mixed emotions he had and the anger he had felt at Gale before when everything came to light about them to Cato he felt warmth spread through his heart, spilling out over his chest and warming the whole of his body; even his cold metal leg.

 

A smile enveloped Gale’s face—also mixed with tears, his family was gone too Peeta realized. But that smile, it was something he hadn’t seen in a while. Not since that one night that seemed eons ago, but was really only a few weeks ago. The smile dimpled his cheeks and his cobalt eyes blazed alive with a blue fire like sapphires in the morning sun. His hand moved out to rest against Peeta’s left thing and Peeta flinched. Gale’s hand withdrew, shock replacing his face. Peeta shook his head no, but Gale lifted the covers regardless and a broken moan escaped his mouth as he caught site of the Capitol technology that had replaced his flesh and bone. Prim looked up too and gasped at the sight of it.

 

“Oh Peeta! They—they didn’t tell us!”

 

“They wouldn’t tell us anything of your condition save for that you were alive,” Gale growled indignantly.

 

Primrose wept anew and Gale fell back into the chair provided next to Peeta’s bed.

 

“It’s not all bad. The technology is wired right into my nervous system, I wont even have any rehabilitation time. I’ll kinda be like a superhero. It’s strong than the rest of my body combined.” Peeta tried for light, forcing a laugh, but failed terribly. No one joined his laugh.

 

In the end Prim fell asleep curled up next to Peeta on his bed as they mourned their home and family, her hand tightly wound in the fabric of his shirt, his hand slowly stroking her back; giving her as much comfort as he received in return. Gale remained by Peeta’s side too, eventually falling asleep upright in the chair by his bed. It seemed wholly uncomfortable.

 

Just as his eyes became heavy with encroaching sleep and the lights turned off for the night Peeta caught sight of movement by the door. Standing in the doorway, lit from behind by the light of the hallway was Cato. It cast shadows over his face but made his body radiate like some dark angel, his features smoky and brooding. Peeta sought out in the shadow of his face for those brown eyes, but all he could see where the dark hallow spots where his eyes should be. He could feel the intensity of their gaze, searing across the room like lasers.

 

Then Cato turned away. His face illuminated by the light for the briefest of seconds before his back was turned to Peeta and he walked away. He walked away from Peeta for the second time and it was like feeling the break all over again. His chest constricted and his heart clenched. He knew it was over and everything was lost. 


	22. Salvage The Wreckage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters. Hope you like it too!

Ch. 22- Salvage the Wreckage

Wandering down the fluorescent-lit hallways of District Thirteen was like winding his way through a maze. Each hallway looked the same as the last. Peeta was lost. No one seemed to be around to direct him in the appropriate direction. He was late. For what, he couldn’t remember. 

Picking up the pace, Peeta began to run down the hallway. Where was everybody? Left, right, Peeta turned at random and still nothing revealed itself to him. No one appeared to help guide him. He was abandoned. Just the same endless stretches of white paneled walls. Anxiety began to coil in his chest. He brought his right hand to his left pectoral muscle and rubbed. He felt just under the skin a protrusion, smooth and hard like a polished pebble. He felt sick. He clawed at it through the material of his thin black v-neck. Ripping through the cotton material his nails sliced into his skin, digging numbly into the flesh and parting it. Blood trickled down his chest. Big crimson blotches fell and splattered across the white tile floor like a bloody Rorschach. Peeta pushed a digit in through his warm wet skin, scraping around, searching for the intruder, pushing deeper through muscle and fat.

A pair of eyes reflected in the surface of the pool of blood by his feet, staring at him; casting harsh judgment. Peeta saw it and gasped, he had to escape those familiar young dark blue eyes. The ones he had watched the life leech from. His first kill. Peeta dashed down the hallway, weaving an unfamiliar path, his heart hammering against his chest, pushing more blood out the hole he’d made, whatever he’d been looking for lost between the muscles and bone. Turning a corner Peeta stumbled and fell face first to the ground. He tried to stand but found he couldn’t, he just tipped over to the left. Looking down he gasped.

_My leg._

His left leg was gone. All that remained was a scarred stump, like the hacked off base of a tree trunk. His flesh was sewed together at the end and a raw red like freshly butchered meat. The sound of footsteps, even paced against the tile, approached behind him. He turned and looked up expecting help. He held out his hand only to feel the blood drain from his face.

Beetee towered over him with a look of superiority planted on his round face, his brown skin pale and ghastly.

“You’re a killer at heart.”

His lips didn’t move. But it was Beetee’s voice. Bloody patches welled across the surface of his shirt, his eyes a dead foggy grey.

“A murderer. You will destroy them all.” 

“No, no please, you have to know I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t in control!” Peeta gasped from the floor. He tried to move towards Beetee, to make him understand, but the floor around him was flooded with blood.

“See all the blood you’ve spilt?”

Peeta turned his back to him. He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t hear anymore. He tried to escape down the other end of the hall. He dragged his body across the floor. It slid wildly with the copious amounts of blood. Someone approached from the opposing side of the hallway. He practically glowed white and Peeta had to shield his eyes. The sickly sweet smell of roses pierced through the tang of blood.

“You will help the Capitol complete it’s goal, willfully or not.” Snow’s voice was like ice. Peeta wished to run. The stump of his left leg throbbed sharply and he bit back a cry of pain. “It’s inside you, you’re a killer and you can’t deny it.”

Snow tipped his head back and laughed maniacally. A gash suddenly and meticulously slit open across the surface of his pale throat exposing cartilage and bone, blood pouring out and running down the front of his white suit. He continued to laugh as he gurgled and choked on the blood. It sparked out of his slashed throat like fireworks. Peeta screamed in abject horror. Then everything ripped apart in a blazing orange explosion…

“They thought they could sentence us to public execution in the Arena, but it didn’t work. They thought they could kill us with muttations and bombs, they couldn’t. We, the past victors of the Hunger Games, survived, escaped. The Mockingjay lives. I am alive and so is District Thirteen. You cannot defeat our will—“ Peeta stalled midsentence and looked up from the teleprompter. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

“Cut!” Fulvia shouted from behind the bug-like camera pods, rushing around to intercept Peeta as he tried to move off the green screen stage. His thoughts were still on last night’s nightmare. 

“Peeta, my boy! What’s wrong?” Plutarch Heavensbee asked, pushing past his assistant to clamp a pudgy hand on Peeta’s shoulder. Fulvia furiously notated things on the clipboard in her hand next to her boss. Peeta could tell they were growing exasperated with his behavior. “We’ve been at this for over an hour now.”

“I’m sorry it’s just… it’s not me.” Peeta tried for an apologetic tone, but even he was growing aggravated. An hour had gone by of trying to film these propos and none of them had gone well. It was beyond frustrating. Peeta thought Effie Trinket would have been a preferable coach to them, but who knew what was happening to her back at the Capitol. It wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on.

It had been one week now since Peeta left the hospital and there wasn’t a moment to himself, too adjust to everything. It had been constant meetings and trainings and somebody always wanting something from him. The propos were the worst though. Fulvia had thought of them to combat the constant output of ones made by the Capitol. They had managed to get one good one from some crafty editing of many takes the other day, which they blasted out to the Districts. Otherwise it was a pointless endeavor.

“Well help us try to make it you,” Boggs said with the hint of an edge, marching out from the shadows, not even trying to hide the annoyance on his face. He was here as a representative for President Coin and had the least patience for all of this.

“You wouldn’t like that.”

Peeta stared down Boggs, unflinching, ignoring how he still felt unsteady on his new prosthetic leg. He wasn’t going to become a puppet for this man or anyone else. He may be the Mockingjay, but that was a mantle he carried. The people, not Plutarch or President Coin, gave it to him. He got to decide how it worked and this was very much not it.

“And why is that?” Boggs challenged.

“You really want to know?” Peeta’s chest expanded with air.

“Okay, okay, back off Boggs,” Haymitch moved in to smooth things over, stepping between the two of them. He was working to adjust to everything as much as Peeta was. With strict laws on no production of alcohol or any mind-altering substances in District Thirteen he was truly being forced into sobriety. Peeta had been angry with him at first for keeping secret his involvement with the rebellion, but he couldn’t fault him for long. He understood the costs of it all now. They had both reached an understanding. “Let’s take a break and do this another time.”

“Yes, we might as well.” Plutarch spoke grandly. “We have that meeting that starts in a few. I should get there early to prep. Alma might need my insights. The Capitol’s perspective if you will.”

Plutarch then bustled out the door with Fulvia. Boggs remained standing before Haymitch and Peeta, arms crossed over his broad chest, his lips puckered in distaste.

“I’ll have to report to President Coin your uncooperativeness.”

“Be my guest.”

Peeta motioned a hand out in front of him towards the door, urging him to go on. Boggs surveyed Peeta coolly before marching out. Haymitch suppressed a grin.

“You need to at least pretend like ya want to help them.”

Rolling his eyes Peeta shrugged.

“I don’t particularly like them.”

“Neither do I, but they’re what we’re stuck with. And besides, we wont win this war with out them.”

They left the makeshift sound stage and headed towards a bank of elevators at the end of the corridor. District Thirteen personnel busied about up and down the hallways, working to complete unknown tasks. Peeta noticed that most of them were not particularly healthy looking. Haymitch had filled him in a few days ago about how the Capitol worked tirelessly to kill them. Disease, starvation, sabotage, but they were a tough people and made it through, although not with out a cost to their health and population size.

At the elevators Peeta studied his left leg. He was wearing black trousers and if one didn’t know him they would have no idea that he only had one leg. If he looked at himself objectively he could even forget the mechanical device that worked in place of his flesh and bone. 

“Enough of that.” Haymitch slapped a hand on Peeta’s back and he jolted a step forward. “No use moping about it. It’ll only drive ya crazy. And I know a lot about crazy.”

“I know…” Heaving a sigh Peeta entered the elevator and pressed the button for thirteen. “It’s just an adjustment. Like everything else right now.”

Standing to his right Haymitch eyed him from the corner of his eye. He wiped a hand under his hooked nose and shook his head, flinging his hair back out of his face. The elevator shuddered and Peeta felt his stomach drop as it delved deeper into the earth.

“Do—“ Haymitch cleared his throat, scratching at the stubble on his neck. “Do you want to talk about it? Cato, I mean.”

“I don’t know what there is to talk about. It’s over. I fucked it up.” Peeta leaned back against the elevator wall.

“Pfft. And when hasn’t someone fucked something up at one time or another?” Haymitch turned to face Peeta. He was having none of it. “Life ain’t easy kid. You know that more than anyone.” They shared a knowing look. “So what made you think relationships were any easier?”

The elevator slowed and the doors slid open onto the thirteenth floor. Men and women in army uniforms hurried about in all directions. To there right visible through floor-to-ceiling glass was a massive control room with computers, televisions and holograms all running while people worked on them. At the end of the long hall ahead were doors marked for different training rooms where the academy trained new soldiers. A buzz of noise hit his ears as they stepped out and moved to the left where the conference room they had been having their daily war meetings was.

Haymitch took the lead and Peeta chewed over his words. Maybe he should try to speak with Cato. Since leaving the hospital the only time Peeta had even interacted with him was at these daily meetings and even then he couldn’t quite label that as an ‘interaction.’ Not when Cato spent the whole time trying to ignore his presence and only when forced by the conversation would he speak directly to Peeta, his eyes never holding Peeta’s for more than a second. Peeta privately mourned the loss of his relationship every night. He’d finger the ring he still wore while curled up in bed until sleep took him. Gale continued to try and talk to him, but Peeta had successfully managed to dodge him so far. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. But he wasn’t ready to face what he felt for Gale, not when he was still piecing together what it meant to lose Cato. He knew both men were the most important people in his life and he didn’t know how to reconcile one with the other. And really, he didn’t have time for it. Not when everyone seemed to want something from him and war was raging. 

Haymitch and Peeta took seats next to each other at the large oval conference table. It was a brushed steel, but smooth to the touch. Peeta spent more time studying the intricacies of the metal tabletop than he did listening to the political arguing of President Coin and Plutarch Heavensbee.

Speaking of, President Coin stood off to the side trying her best to remain patient as Plutarch bloviated about something she seemed to care very little about. He was always yammering about something Peeta noticed. He held himself in very high esteem, and while yes he was instrumental in the war, he was not the President, which Coin had to remind him on one extremely uncomfortable occasion. Since then he had been more deferential to her, but still plowed on with his belief that he was the single most important instrument in ending this war.

Which Peeta was happy to let him believe, because otherwise President Coin and her lackeys were hounding him to do more. Except whenever he tossed out the suggestion of entering the war and leading the fight, they froze up. And he knew that would never happen, but he just liked ruffling their feathers, it was the only time he got a little entertainment in during his typically bleak days, just counting down the hours until it was time to finally act.

There was a beep and then everyone took their seats—Cato at the far opposing end of the table with Lyme. Various other key military assets were spaced between them.

“Mr. Heavensbee, how are the repairs coming to the hovercraft? Will it be battle ready soon?” President Coin began, perched in her seat at the top of the oval with a sharp posture and evenly folded hands resting over her stack of manila folders. Her grey hair hung stiff and straight to her shoulders. 

Plutarch straightened in his seat and shuffled through papers somewhat haphazardly.

“Well I’m no mechanic really…” Plutarch muttered, sifting through more folders.

“That is apparent.” Coin deadpanned. It threw Plutarch off and his face hardened for a fraction of a second before dispensing back to his pleasantly bland smile. Flavius handed him a piece of paper. He masked his gratitude. 

“Ah, yes. Here’s the report from yesterday. All engines should be fully operational in the next few days making it flight ready. They report severe infrastructural damage to the escape pod bay—“

“That is of no necessity, we need it to be able to fight, not capable of being abandoned.”

“Uh, yes—right. Well besides that the only foreseeable obstacle remains repairing the shields. It’s an upgraded tech they’re unfamiliar with.”

“We need that ship, Mr. Heavensbee. It’s the only of its kind we have and may be one of the most valuable asset you brought us.” President Coin leaned forward, her colorless grey eyes harsh and unforgiving. Her look could bend steel to her will.

“Excuse me, mam,” Haymitch interjected. “But I was under the impression that our Mockingjay was the most valuable asset we acquired.”

Cold eyes swept over Peeta—his stomach flipped—before turning on Haymitch. Peeta sank back in his chair.

“I do not remember calling on you, Mr. Haymitch.” She held eye contact for a second longer then turned to her immediate right satisfied Haymitch had been reprimanded for his insubordination. Peeta bristled at her audacity. “Boggs, I hear you have a report from the field?”

“Yes, mam.”

“Then please share.”

Images flickered to life from the hologram in the center of the table. More battle scenes. Peeta had seen this often in the past few days—images from all over war-torn Panem—but this place he recognized instantly. It was District Two.

“We have encountered quite the fierce resistance here in our forward march to the Capitol. I think it’d be best to let Commander Paylor share in her own words.”

The holographic image switched to one of a middle aged woman, no older than thirty-five. Her hair was cropped short and her bronze face all business-like, but Peeta could tell there was beauty in there she worked to keep hidden.

“Hello President Coin. Council.” The hologram of the woman bowed her head. “I’ll just launch right in. The Capitol’s forces have dug in their heals within the Nut. It’s their main base of operation and power and we can’t figure out how to breach it. Our forces have sustained heavy losses with each mission. I’ve suspended all further attacks until we can plot an appropriate course of action that mitigates the high level of casualties we’re sustaining. But it hasn’t ended there. Their leader has been utilizing increasingly innovative and reprehensible tactics. Just last night a young injured child was found by one of our units and picked up for medical treatment. The child was wearing some type of vest with remote explosives that were detonated. We lost fourteen men and eight others seriously injured. We’ve had to cease offering medical attention to all civilians.”

Flavius and Plutarch whispered to themselves over something in the background heatedly while Paylor spoke, though Peeta’s eyes were glued to Cato. He remained un-emotive. What type of cruel person was behind such repugnant tactics Peeta wondered angrily? Using children as weapons in war? That was too sickening a thought to comprehend.

“And who is the man commanding the Capitol forces there?” Coin asked.

“His name is Dreg. He is the Mayor’s son from the District, he trained at the academy here and appears to live for carnage and chaos.” Paylor said, obvious notes of disgust in her voice. She seemed a woman of principle caught in an increasingly unprincipled war.

Both Peeta and Cato made eye contact at Dreg’s name. It was like a shot of adrenaline to the heart. Every sense of Peeta’s focused. Dreg. Of course he would be leading the forces there. He had turned the whole of the District against Cato and labeled Peeta a traitor long before an uprising started. Peeta didn’t doubt his brutal instincts would make him a fearsome leader.

“We know the young man,” Lyme spoke up and leaned forward with both elbows on the table. “He is charismatic and vicious. All he’s ever wanted was the chance to be victor of the Hunger Games. I assume now that he’s lost that chance he’s taken up the cause as a way to execute his most sadistic tendencies.”

“And how would you suggest we deal with him?” Coin asked.

“Destroy the Nut.” Cato suddenly offered up. All eyes turned to him in surprise.

_He has to be kidding_ , Peeta thought.

“If we can’t get them to fight us and we can’t make them surrender we wipe them out.” The severe look on Cato’s face meant he definitely wasn’t joking. Peeta felt his mouth fall open in shock. “Dreg wont stop. You will only continue to lose men. Blow the fucking thing up. The Capitol will lose a huge supply reserve and we will be that much closer to overthrowing them.”

“That’s barbaric!” Peeta interjected. “We can’t stoop to their level otherwise what makes us better than them? What makes us worthy of leading the rebellion?”

“Sometimes you have to do something terrible to stop something terrible,” Cato threw back. 

“And it may be our only course of action.” Coin said, sitting back in her chair, her fingers tapping the table as she thought. Peeta couldn’t believe she was seriously considering such plans. Killing all those people, even if they were fighting for the Capitol, would make them no better than the oppressors they fought. There had to be principles, something greater they fought for, but no one bothered to listen to him. Or no one wanted to hear it 

After Cato’s merciless suggestion he ceased to speak. He seemed to recede further into his mind, knuckles tensing at every mention of Dreg’s name or his home District as Coin debated with her staff the merits of the plan. Peeta noticed Cato’s knuckles were bruised. On closer analysis Peeta realized that Cato had bulked back up from when he first saw him at the beginning of the Quarter Quell when he’d slimmed down from his imprisonment. Thankfully for Cato’s sanity the meeting came to a close. Unfortunately they come to the agreement to destroy the Nut. Peeta was more than disgusted. Cato pushed away from the table quickly and stormed out into the hall. Peeta coiled in on himself before deciding he could know longer wait. He had to speak with Cato.

Out in the hallway Peeta looked left and right for Cato. He spotted him almost to the elevator bank.

“Wait,” Peeta called out. He knew Cato heard him by the tensing of muscles in his back, but he ignored Peeta and pressed the button to call an elevator.

Peeta reached him just as the doors opened.

“Will you please talk to me?”

Cato walked into the elevator and turned to face him with a cool expression. Peeta searched his chocolate eyes, but found all emotion turned off towards him.

“We’ve already done this.”

“Yes, but not really. That was all heated in the moment stuff. We need to talk, really talk. That can’t be how we end things.”

Peeta put a foot forward in between the elevator doors to hold it open. His eyebrows screwed up, pleading at Cato. His face remained smooth and unconvinced and devastatingly handsome, his stare fixated somewhere over Peeta’s left shoulder. Peeta felt a flutter in his stomach he hadn’t felt in a long time with Cato. It was like he was just trying to get to know him. Peeta wanted to know him desperately, but he feared what he might discover.

“I really just want nothing to do with you, is that so hard to believe?”

“I…” Peeta floundered. Could he really feel that way after everything they’d been through? Could he just cut Peeta out of his life like that with out another thought? It was so careless. It was beyond hurtful; it was devastating. “You can’t really want that.”

Cold brown eyes finally met Peeta’s and he retracted his foot from between the elevator doors.

“But I do.”

“It can’t just—we can’t just end like this,” Peeta beseeched. “You pushed me away once before, but I wont let you do it again. I know I made mistakes, but it can’t all be on me. We were to get married!”

Suddenly Cato came forward and a fist slammed into the metal siding of the elevator as he snarled at Peeta. Peeta jumped back, frightened. He’d never felt so scared of Cato. This was more than just the act he put on to appease his father and the Careers in the first Hunger Games; this was real. It’s how he could reconcile the bombing of the Nut with his conscience.

“You think I care about any of that? The more I look back on it the more our proposal just looks like two idiots not knowing when to call it quits and desperately clinging on to the idea of their love.” Cato lashed out. He spoke through a clenched jaw and veins bulged out from his neck, pulsing rapidly with the beat of his heart. “My whole family’s dead. If you think I care about what you think, if you think I care about us, this—“ Cato waved a hand between them violently, “Fucked up, parasitic relationship, then you’re dead wrong. I never even got to say goodbye to Cassy. That mob, the one riled up by _Dreg_ because I threw my lot in with you, tore me away from her. _You_ stole my goodbye. So you don’t get to say anything.”

The seething rage contorted Cato’s face into an ugly mask of hate that Peeta could barely stand to look at. Cassy was dead? _Parasitic?_ It was like being hit with a wrecking ball, everything obliterated inside him, disintegrated to nothing but dust. Cato panted in exertion like he’d just run a marathon and then he fell backwards against the back of the elevator, everything drained from him. Maybe he realized he’d gone too far, but the damage was done. Somewhere, deep inside, he’d convinced himself they were toxic together.

“Sometimes,” Cato whispered, “Sometimes love isn’t enough to salvage what cant be fixed. Things break and they can’t be put back together…” He sighed and moved forward to press a button for the level he wanted. The doors began to close. “We’re at war. Let’s just focus on that.”

Then the elevator doors closed and Cato was cut from view. Peeta started breathing rapidly. _Cato is the man of my dreams, and together we can’t make it through anything…_ A few people had stopped to stare. He hadn’t realized the commotion they made. There wasn’t enough air. He feared he was going to suffocate. He needed to do something, anything—escape before it all caught up with him. He turned on his heel and ran down the hallway, ducking and weaving through all the people. Someone shouted at him to slow down, but he couldn’t. That was the last thing he needed to do. If he slowed down then it might catch him and everything would be lost.

At the end of the wide hall and to the right Peeta went through the first door he could find. It was marked for target practice, but once inside he found it was empty. Well almost save for the last stall at the end where a familiar spike haired brunette stood with a wide stance, gun straight out from her chest, and unloaded a full clip into the human shaped target.

The cracks of the gun spit out in quick succession and reverberated around the room. Peeta flinched with each sound, reminded of the few times he’d been witness to the destructive force of a gun: Darius; the sound of the gunfire that ended Riece’s life. He turned to leave when Johanna called out.

“Come to sharpen your aim or blow off some steam?”

Peeta slowly turned around. Johanna moved to the workbench that lined the back of the wall and reloaded her gun. A variety of other guns were splayed out on the bench to choose from as well. Some machine was called forward to replace the target with the press of a button. The bullet riddled sheet switched out for a clean paper target.

“I prefer the handgun. The full weight of it in my palm, the cool steel of the shaft,” She stroked it delicately with the tip of one finger; across and back. It was almost sensual. “Besides you can maneuver much easier with this than with some semi-automatic strapped over your shoulder.”

Johanna moved back to the stall and kicked up, her foot connecting in the air with an invisible head before she fired off two more shots at the target—one bullet to the head, the other to the heart.

“C’mon. Have a try.” Johanna urged, holding out the gun for Peeta to take. There was a smile on her face but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Peeta hesitated before deciding he might as well learn how to use one. A bow and arrow would only get him so far in a gunfight. And he knew there would be plenty soon. “You’re ex sure hasn’t been missing out on the chance to train. You’d think he was planning to take on the whole of the Capitol by himself.”

“What do you mean?” Peeta asked, perplexed as he took the handle of the gun from Johanna cautiously. It was odd how cold the steel was even after having been held in Johanna’s hands and fired. He’d never held a gun before and the weight of it was awkward in his hands 

“He’s usually in one of the training rooms doing his own little thing while Thirteen trains its obedient little soldiers. Now come over here, wide stance,” Johanna guided Peeta forcefully with her hands on his shoulders into the stall, kicking his legs apart with one of hers. “Raise it shoulder height. That’s it. And if it’s your first time like I assume it is, it’s best to use both hands. There’ll be a kickback.”

“So he comes down here a lot then?”

“Hmm?” Johanna looked up at Peeta from observing his posture critically from the side. “Oh yeah, I’m surprised he’s not here now. You’d think he lived here with the amount of time he spends here. Usually wailing on someone or something until it breaks. One of the staff sergeants tried to recruit him to her training class—I don’t think she knew whom she was talking to. Needless to say it didn’t go well for her. He doesn’t seem the type to work well with others in a group or take orders. But who am I to judge? I hate team play.” She stepped forward again and adjusted his aim. “Now brace your feet for the blowback and don’t hesitate when pulling the trigger.”

So that explained why he seemed to be bulking back up and the bruises on his knuckles. He was spending all his free time here. Peeta wondered what he envisioned as he worked out or used the target practice. Was he exorcising demons or was it Peeta’s face on the punching bag, Gale’s on the target?

The gun was heavy in his palms. They felt sweaty and hot, but the metal stayed cool against his skin. He pulled his index finger against the trigger. It had a stronger resistance than he expected. He pulled harder and suddenly the gun fired with a loud crack. He didn’t expect it and was stumbled backwards. Johanna laughed. He looked up and saw he missed the target completely.

“Breath out as you fire. Try again.”

Breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth Peeta envisioned the faces of all his enemies on the head of the target—dead and alive. Stasson and Asasia, Enobaria and Dreg, President Snow. Then he fired. The bullet hit dead center in the head of the target. Johanna whistled appreciatively.

“Damn that was hot. C’mon lets go grab some food, I’m fuckin starved.”

They rode up to the second floor where the cafeteria was. They were just below the surface where the loading bays with all the machinations of war launched. Peeta was glad to see Johanna had mostly returned to her old self after the medical team woke her. She had suffered severe internal injures from the mutts and Asasia. He had a feeling if there was anything she agonized over it was the fact that she didn’t get to kill the bitch herself. Peeta was happy to have that honor though. Then he realized he was happy to have killed and felt his appetite quickly dissipate.

The line for food wasn’t too long yet. The food itself was nothing to brag about, bland and barely appetizing, but it had to suffice. Johanna ladled a hefty portion of some grey goop similar to oatmeal—he didn’t want to know what it was—and when one of the cooks gave her shit she silenced him with a withering look. They had strict rationing rules, but Johanna could give just about anyone pause.

“Like I need some idiot telling me how much fucking cow manure I’m allowed to eat,” Johanna griped as they looked for seats at one of the long narrow tables jammed throughout the cafeteria. Peeta laughed and it felt good to feel a genuine smile on his face. Johanna was a pretty great distraction from his misery.

They found a spot in the corner where Finnick was eating with Primrose. Peeta was shocked to find a huge smile planted on his face and his sea green eyes shinning bright with mirth. Even Prim was upbeat today. Then he noticed a woman seated next to Finnick he’d never met before. She was hauntingly beautiful with green eyes as bright as Finnick’s and flowing brown hair, but somewhat unkempt. When they took seats opposing her and Finnick her eyes flicked to Peeta and there seemed to be something missing behind her eyes.

“Oh Peeta, good! I’d like to introduce you to Annie Cresta.” Finnick threw an arm around the woman and it all clicked into place when she spoke.

“Hello Peeta,” Annie stretched out a hand across the table to shake his. Her shirt fell into the mush on her plate, but she didn’t notice. “It’s very nice to make your acquaintance.”

Annie Cresta was the voice he heard in the jabberjay’s section. Annie Cresta was also a victor of the 70th Hunger Games. But the remaining victors had been sentenced to death. She should be dead. It explained why Finnick had seemed so broken the past week. He thought she was dead. Peeta shook her delicate hand. She laughed pleasantly to herself, over what he wasn’t sure.

“As it is mine, Annie. I think I speak for everyone when I say we sure are glad you’re here.”

Finnick smiled brightly, fiddling to wipe the slop from Annie’s shirt for her. Prim smiled and watched him fondly, sighing to herself something about true love. Peeta’s smile faltered. 

“How’d she get here?” Johanna asked.

“She only arrived this morning. Apparently a group of rebels commandeered a ship and smuggled her out with a few other victors before…” Finnick paused and leaned away from Annie to whisper, “Before the execution squad was dispatched. 

Peeta briefly thought of the execution squad being dispatched to Victors Row in District Two. Cato’s family…

“It really is awful,” Annie supplied. Peeta was inclined to agree with her, but she happened to be talking about something else. “I don’t like boats. They make me sick. 

“I’ve never been on a boat.” Peeta said.

“What?” Annie asked incredulous; eyes wide. “Well I wouldn’t recommend it. Dreadful.”

“He doesn’t have boats where he comes from.” Finnick told her, laughing at her look of disbelief. “And they’re not that bad. She’s just prone to seasickness.”

Peeta had no idea what they were referring to, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t like being at sea on a boat either. Especially with his limited swimming ability. Peeta picked at his food and watched as Finnick doted on Annie. He really did love her completely, despite whatever afflicted her mind. Peeta had a feeling she had never fully recovered after returning from the games. She got these vacant looks during the remainder of lunch, disappearing in her mind or laughing at nothing at all.

Their radiant happiness eventually cast a shadow over Peeta’s mood. Their relationship worked, despite obvious faults. Finnick had been forced into prostitution by the Capitol and used his sexuality as a weapon, while Annie, a shell of her former self, was broken by the trauma induced by the Capitol. And yet they worked. It seemed so effortless.

Not wanting to let his fouling mood disturb the others he pushed away from the table and excused himself. He deposited the tray at the proper receptacle—everything was vigorously recycled and re-used here, even the food Peeta wagered.

With his head bowed Peeta walked out of the cafeteria. And so he didn’t see him approaching until he was standing right before Peeta.

“Ahem,” Gale cleared his throat and Peeta looked up startled from his thoughts. “Hey there…”

“Oh—hey.”

They stood awkwardly in the middle of the doorway staring at each other. Gale wore a military uniform. Peeta hadn’t realized he’d joined up with District Thirteen’s army. He wasn’t sure he liked it. Gale reached out to touch Peeta, but at the last minute he diverted the hand to scratch at the back of his neck when Peeta flinched back.

“Can—uh, can we talk?”

It seemed time had run out on Peeta and he could no longer keep dodging him. He realized he was probably doing the same thing to Gale what Cato had done to him and knowing how unfair that was he relented and nodded his head. Gale motioned with a hand towards one of the benches along the wall in the wide corridor that lead to the cafeteria. It was as good of a place as any and Peeta didn’t mind the fact that it carried a lot of foot traffic.

They sat together on the uncomfortable metal bench; Peeta’s back was stalk straight with his hands planted firmly on either side of his body holding him up. Gale’s fingers were dangerously close to his. The movement of a pinky would bring them to touch. He could feel the warmth coming off Gale and wanted nothing more than to lean into it—to be enveloped in his strong arms and let the comfort of his being enfold Peeta in a blanket of peace. But he pushed back against the urge, scolding himself for being of such weak will.

“So, you wanted to talk…” Peeta prodded when Gale said nothing. His brows were deeply furrowed, his bottom lip jutted out giving his handsome face a striking resemblance to a child’s pout. It cleared when Peeta spoke and his dark blue eyes found Peeta’s.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I know.”

“And…”

“And what?” Peeta asked with a shrug.

“That’s all you have to say? You fought Cato tooth and nail when he didn’t want to speak to you on the beach, yet you wont give the same courtesy to me?”

Gale glowered and it was a harsher stare than before, no cute child-like quality to it. Peeta couldn’t take his mind off the hand that was centimeters from touching his. It was like his whole being was concentrated there. It had been so long since he’d been near Gale he forgot what it was like, the sharp need.

“What do you want me to do? We never had a relationship.” Peeta’s heart stuttered and his cheeks heated. Gale’s eyes narrowed coolly and his hand drew away from Peeta’s on the bench. Peeta’s back collapsed against the wall. 

“That’s a bold-faced lie.” Gale huffed out a jarring laugh. “I don’t know what you call those months before the reaping, but I sure as hell wouldn’t classify it as just a friendship. There was more to it than that and you know it.”

“I don’t know what I know, Gale.” Peeta was starting to regret having this conversation out in the open, much like he did with Cato. What did Gale want from him? Why was he doing this to him? “You hate me one minute, save my life the next, act like my friend and then kiss me. It’s more than confusing it’s infuriating. Are you even gay?”

“What does that have to do with anything? Is that some requirement to be in love with you?”

Peeta recoiled at that word: love. Gale didn’t know what he was saying.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes I do!” Gale bit out. “You have no idea what I feel for you, but I wish you’d let me show you. Make you believe. You ran away that morning before we could even talk about it. Do you even know what that did to me? Did you even care? And then you went and volunteered yourself, just like I asked you not to!”

_Oh god, he’s right. I never thought about him in all of that. I couldn’t, not after that night…_

“I couldn’t talk to you though!” Peeta gasped out like he was coming up for air. “I woke that morning and everything hit me. The weight of what I’d done. I felt like the smallest, worst person in the world. Like I had not only betrayed Cato but all of Panem and I knew couldn’t face you too.”

“Not what you did, what _we_ did.” Gale slid towards Peeta suddenly and gripped both of Peeta’s hands. Peeta’s whole body froze up at the contact. It was too much. _It was too much._

“If you had stayed. If you had let me convince you it was just as much my responsibility,” Gale shook Peeta’s hands in his as he implored him to listen. “That I wanted it as much as you did—if not more. That it was real and that it wasn’t wrong. That it didn’t—it _doesn’t_ make you a horrible person, then maybe you’d believe me when I say I love you.”

Gale’s deep blue eyes were never ending as Peeta stared into them. He felt like he could just be swept away by them. He wanted to believe him, he really did, but he just couldn’t.

“You never loved me,” Peeta spoke softly, pulling his hands free from Gale, the words so heavy they fell from his lips like ten ton bricks, smashing up the very ground he stood on. He didn’t know where sturdy ground stood anymore. “You loved Katniss and it was wrong of me to play along. You were so confused and broken after she died, as was I. And then we found a safety line in each other and fell into that unable to let go or see clearly. You lost Katniss and thought you found her again in me, but that’s not how this works. I’m not her. I’m so far from ever being her…” Beetee’s words from his nightmare played over in his head. There was so much to atone for.

“Stop telling me how I feel!” Gale’s face flushed as he grew angry. “I’m tired of you making up your mind about what I feel when you refuse to even hear me out. I may have been confused, but it’s because I’ve never loved a _guy_ before. So what if I don’t know what that means. Is that so bad? Do I have to label it? I love you. It was an adjustment at first, sure, but when I realized after the Quarter Quell announcement that I didn’t want to lose you it became a nonfactor. Not when I realized how important you were to me, to my sanity, my happiness, my—my everything! And you can’t stand here and deny you feel nothing for me in return.”

Suddenly Gale lunged forward, gripping Peeta’s face hard between his hands and pulling him into a hard kiss. Peeta was caught off guard and let it happen before getting his bearings and shoving at Gale’s chest, breaking the chaste kiss. Peeta stood abruptly, touching his hand to his lips. Someone almost ran into Peeta and he was forced to move back in closer to the bench. That was more than unfair of Gale. And so he grabbed for anything he could, anything to fight it.

“And what of Madge? You two were good.”

Gale’s face registered confusion and then dawning surprise. He must not have realized Peeta noticed the thing that was going on between them, but he did. Madge wouldn’t just lie to Romulus and then show up distraught on the Everdeen’s doorstep with morphling for anyone.

“I—yes we had something, but it wasn’t serious and ended long before you and I. Besides, she’s dead now.”

It was such a simple statement, but with those words it was all done. Peeta couldn’t find the energy anymore to fight it.  More people were rushing by them as they talked at the bench in the corridor. People were starting to leave the cafeteria in waves, buzzing loudly. Peeta had to raise his voice to be heard over the noise.

“And that’s why this can’t be.” Not with Cato, not with Gale. They didn’t know, but they would. “I don’t get a happy ending because I’m the Mockingjay and this is more than a petty love triangle. People are dying. This is war.”

Someone’s shoulder bumped into Peeta and he finally became aware of what was happening around him. Everyone was flooding out of the cafeteria. He looked around confused and Gale stood with him, taking in the scene before them. He stopped a young woman and asked her what was going on.

Something’s happening in the entry bay was all she said before she was swept away in the crowd. They looked at each other awkwardly, the conversation still looming over their heads.

“I’m not giving up on this.”

“You do that.”

Peeta stepped into the current of people and let them carry him away. Everyone headed towards the stairwell and marched up. There were too many of them to use the elevators and besides it was only one flight up. Peeta’s mind was reeling with all the things Gale had said. It just didn’t seem to fit. He couldn’t really feel that way. Peeta had spent so much time convincing himself Gale was straight, it was a one-off and that he was the shittiest person ever for cheating on Cato that he never thought his feelings could have been genuinely returned. But none of it mattered now anyways. Not with what was coming. Not when his mind was riddled with violence and his body a traitor.

Reaching the first floor the room opened up into a vast loading bay with massive two story doors opened at the opposing end. There was a large crowd of people at the entrance to the bay. They were grime covered and weak looking, but all of varying ages and sizes. Two groups of army men and women contained them from entering further into the District Thirteen facilities. Peeta felt an odd sensation in his stomach. He was too far away to make out any features on the people. But the people who had got here first were finally reaching them and cheers started to erupt. Peeta felt an urgency build along with a tingling sensation in his stomach. He started pushing past people, ignoring their grumblings, standing on his toes to try and get a better look over all the heads.

Then Peeta caught site of a familiar wide-set man with dimpled cheeks and his stomach dropped out from beneath him. He never thought he’d see that face again, especially after the destruction of District Twelve. It wasn’t possible, and yet there he was in tattered and grimy clothing, his face severely exhausted. It was Peeta’s father, talking to some higher-up in the army emphatically.

“Father?” Peeta said to himself in disbelief. Then he said it louder. “Father!”

Peeta ran and shoved the remaining way through the crowd, crying out for his dad. His weary eyes cast out on the sea of people before him before settling on Peeta as he burst his way through the crowd.  His father stopped talking to the army woman and his dulled blue eyes suddenly lit alive as he hustled towards Peeta. Two guards immediately stepped forward with guns trained on his father.

“No! Put your guns down!” Peeta shouted, throwing himself between their guns and his father. “Put—your—guns—down, damn it! This is my father!”

They looked at Peeta confused before staring at their superior who nodded and then they finally lowered their guns. Taking a gulp of air Peeta finally turned to face his dad. He looked haggard and worn out. It was impossible that he was here and yet he was. He took that final step forward and latched his arms around the girth of his father, pulling him in to a tight hug. Relief flooded Peeta’s system like much needed medicine. He hadn’t realized how much he needed a parent until that very moment. There was something about family. He never knew how important it was until he started creating his own family of choice—Cato, Prim, Mrs. Everdeen, Gale—but one bound by blood gave a new dimension to the meaning that he didn’t quite understand. He just knew he needed it.

His father clutched him back just as intensely and his chest shook with laughs mixed with choked back sobs.

“I—I didn’t know if you were alive. I hoped, prayed. But…” His father pulled back to take a look at Peeta. Peeta felt warm tears welling in his eyes too. It was unbelievable and yet just what he needed at the moment a spark of light in the never-ending night.

“How are you here? Who all is with you?” Peeta asked incredulously.

“I figured out it was District Thirteen backing the rebels. I knew there would come a time when we might need to flee our district and then I saw what happened in the Quarter Quell. It looked like you blew everything up.” He shook his head disbelievingly. “I knew they’d strike back for your actions. So I gathered everyone I could as quickly as possible and lead them out of the District. We—we watched from the mountains as the bombs rained down… it was pure destruction. But you’re alive and here. How?”

“District Thirteen. They saved us after I destroyed the force field.” 

Peeta, still griping his both of his dad’s arms, looked around and noticed Mrs. Everdeen standing off to the side looking on with fond eyes at their reunion. Behind her a little ways stood Mrs. Hawthorne, Posy clutched in her arms, the rest of her children hanging on to her dress somewhat nervously. He searched for his brothers, even his mom, but they were no were to be seen. He knew deep down what had happened, he didn’t need to ask. His father had suffered enough. Suddenly there was a screech and Peeta turned expecting bad news. Instead he saw Primrose dart from between two men towards her mother, pure happiness on her face. Then Gale stepped out from the crowd with a stunned look. His little brothers shouted and whooped as they detached from Hazelle and sprinted towards their big brother. Peeta took a step back from his father and just watched the happy reunions that were taking place before him. He soaked in all the good he could get; it wasn’t too often they got these moments—little moments of triumph. Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe there was a chance.

A new feeling arose in Peeta’s chest. It was displacing all the other dark and tragic feelings he’d been consumed by in the past few months. It might not stay, the dark always found its way back, but for now it was enough. It was light and effervescent. It made him feel weightless and like the world wasn’t so bad after all. It brought a smile to his face as Prim was kissed and coddled by her mother, as Gale swung his little brothers around on his arms and laughed joyously while Hazelle cried happy tears, Posy chanting Gale’s name.

It was hope.

It was what this rebellion was worth fighting for.


	23. The Price of War

Ch. 23- The Price of War

The morning bell blared at five a.m. sharp. Everything was strictly scheduled in District Thirteen. Everyone had a job to do. There was no free time. Well except for Peeta. He awoke in his bunk bleary eyed and grumpy. He wasn’t sleeping well. The nightmares still haunted him; his mind still toyed with him. The blood seemed to seep into his reality. He’d wake up in a lurch, blood splashed across his bed, hand’s covered in crimson, even his vision stained red, and then he’d blink and everything was normal.

Slipping feet over the edge of the bunk, Peeta hopped down not worrying about making sound; the bottom bunk was empty. His foot thudded against the cold tile and he curled his toes inward. His left foot felt nothing. It was just a sensation-less mechanized prosthetic. If he listened closely in the quiet hours of the night he could hear the motorized ticking of the gears as it moved and responded to the stimulus from his brain to his living nerve endings at the amputation site. It was so strange, because he could still imagine what it felt like—to have two legs. The cold his left foot would be feeling, the prickle on the bottom of his foot, the curling in of his toes. That was all gone now. He only had the feeling in his right leg and that’s all he’d ever have.

Tossing aside those depressing thoughts Peeta shrugged out of his nightshirt and began dressing for the day. He preferred to shower late at night before bed. It was less crowded in the communal showers and so he received fewer stares. He wasn’t just some celebrity now, he was a leader and it was an awkward position to capacitate as people regarded him with equal amounts of awe and inspiration. They looked up to him for direction, but he was directionless—unmoored. As he pulled the fresh smoky grey v-neck over his head he spotted the mockingjay pin on the small dresser. Peeta felt his stomach drop out from beneath him at the sight of it. Everyone thought he was their Mockingjay, but they didn’t know him, not really. People kept dying for the Mockingjay, proving through huge acts of bravery and sacrifice they deserved the title so much more than Peeta. People like Katniss and Portia, even Riece.

The door clicked open and Peeta’s father walked in to their small rectangular room. There was barely enough space for Peeta in the tiny accommodations, let alone for him and his weighty father. Peeta pressed to the wall to let him pass as he toweled his hair dry and picked out the same drab gray clothes provided to him by District Thirteen.

“I was thinking of offering my skills up in the kitchen, if they will have me.”

His father liked to chat in the morning Peeta had discovered since his miraculous return from the dead. He was a kind of leader now too, having saved a third of the district from certain death and lead them to District Thirteen. It was the third morning since the refugees had arrived—as Thirteeners had taken to calling them. Peeta could tell now that his father had a taste of what Peeta experienced being thrust into a leadership role and he was ready to give it up to get back to the simpler things in life; the anonymity of baking, anything that took his mind off the loss of the rest of his family. Something Peeta didn’t linger on too much. They were lost to him long ago. When his mother took to beating her problems out on him and his brothers trapped him in the mines overnight.

“That sounds like a great idea.” Peeta offered cheerily. Or as cheerily as he could be provided it was such an ungodly hour, not that one could tell so far underground.

“Yeah I thought so,” His dad beamed, dimpling his cheeks. “The baked goods selection here is… lacking.” 

“Baked good _selection_?” Peeta asked sarcastically. It was more like a choice between a rock like biscuit or a sour sponge cake thing. Peeta feared it might have been alive at one time.

“I was trying to be polite, but yes. It’s atrocious. I can’t just stand by and let them continue to mutilate the art of baking.”

Peeta laughed. It was a small laugh, but it was progress. Ever since the conversation he’d had with Cato he found his mind drifting even more to dark places, the empty space inside him like a black hole sucking all sorts of foul matter and thoughts inside him. He was responsible for Cato’s imprisonment and torture. He was responsible for the fact that he never got to say goodbye to his sister—the one good thing from his family, the person he doted on and loved absolutely. He was responsible for breaking his heart and turning him into this new, callous man—one who didn’t care about the war and carnage occurring around him or his important role in fighting it. He just wished to bring as much destruction as he could like the bombing of the Nut.

And then on top of it Peeta continued to push Gale from him. The small reprieves he found in his day anymore were the quiet moments at night with his father—when nothing was expected and he could just be—and the peaceful moments of blissful happiness witnessed through Finnick and Annie. They were engaged and to be married in a few days time. They were his window to a world where happily ever after could exist, even in times as terrible as these.

Once the Mellark’s were dressed they exited into the hallway where the commotions of a new day in District Thirteen were being birthed. People in varying uniforms departed from their dorms in quick, brisk walks to wherever their destination lie while the refugees from Twelve clustered in groups—uncomfortable in their new surroundings and missing home—as they tried to find their place. Some had been assigned jobs; things like construction or cleaning, while others waited for a place to open for them, waited for a purpose.

“Well son,” His father put a hand on Peeta’s shoulder. It was soft and warm and maybe after enough touches like that the blackness that threatened his mind like a suffocating smog would begin to break apart, but not today. “You should swing by the cafeteria, on the second floor, if you’re not too busy with all your important duties. I’ll sneak you a treat. I’m thinking I’ll see what they have and try a hand at your favorite. Mallorca bread.”

“Dad, I know where the cafeteria is. And I don’t have any ‘important duties,’” Peeta mocked. But the promise of his favorite sweet bread was more than tempting. “I’ll see if I can stop by this afternoon though.”

Peeta turned to follow the hallway around the bend to the stairwell. He was heading just two floors down, while his father would take the elevator up to the cafeteria. He enjoyed the comforts offered by the technological advancements of the District compared to home. Peeta preferred to skip breakfast, his stomach too anxious in the morning after his nightmares to digest anything.

“I love you son.”

Peeta froze. He hadn’t heard those words in a long time from a family member. He wasn’t sure he knew how to respond. By the time he turned to look over his shoulder, his father was already walking away.

“I love you too.” Peeta whispered in the middle of the busy hallway and brought a hand up to his shoulder, resting it over the same spot his father’s had touched.

The stairwell was pretty empty this morning as everyone typically moved up and down to his or her respective floors by elevator. Peeta was hopping down two flights to meet with Johanna. She had roped him into daily training. It helped take his mind off things as well as help him work through the adjustment period of having his leg freshly amputated, so he didn’t fight it. He bet if he did she’d show up at his door before the alarm blared and drag his ass to the gym.

A military recruit stopped to salute on the stairs when he passed, they all did this every time he passed one of them. Peeta tried to keep his head down for that very reason. He couldn’t bear to look them in the eye when they didn’t know. He moved past with a nod of the head in hello. More steps. Down and down. Right leg then left prosthetic—there was an odd twinge where there shouldn’t be. Then he turned the landing, one more to go, and the walls shook. Dust broke free from the concrete ceiling. Peeta missed the step, falling the rest of the way down the stairs.

Somewhere in the distance he heard a scream. Peeta was sprawled on his back, mostly intact if not a little bruised. He rolled onto his stomach. Then another boom followed, this one louder—closer. The ground began to shake like an earthquake, bursts of concussive force. Peeta’s heart race began to climb. A nervous sweat broke out on his brow. Screams and shouts filtered into the stairwell. Panic. Peeta pushed up to stand when a violent pain ripped through his left leg and he fell back to the floor with a howl. It was as if a giant splinter of wood had been jammed through the skin straight to the bone. He threw his hand out to grab the leg; it was crooked, in the wrong position and pain flared through it—unbearable. He needed to right it. Except his hand only touched fabric and the metal prosthetic that had replaced his limb.

The sound of explosions ripped through the stairwell like detonated grenades. War had found them. People began streaming down the stairs, whimpering and crying, some covered in dust, others bleeding. Women held children to their chests and raced down the stairs. Others shouted orders—to move for level fourteen, the bomb bunker. Sharp piercing sirens began blaring. There was some kind of announcement. Then the power went out and the emergency lights flickered on, a harsh yellow and flashing bright. It gave everything a distorted and jarring look. People moved in stuttered bursts through the light.

Peeta managed to pull himself into the corner and screamed out in pain, his left leg seizing up. What was happening to him? He was going crazy! There was no leg there anymore and yet he felt a pain so vivid and sharp, like knives delicately shredding his nerves that it had to be real. He couldn’t move. He was helpless as phantom pain wracked the leg that was stolen from him, by the very same bombs being dropped on them from above. The ground and walls rattled with each drop of a bomb. Dust began to coat Peeta’s skin as the ceiling cracked and splintered raining concrete chunks at random on the fleeing citizens of District Thirteen. A piece dislodged and cracked open a skull, the body falling lifeless down the stairs. More screams.

“Peeta?” A confused voice called out through the panic.

“What are you doing here? You’ve got to move!” It was Gale. He crouched before Peeta, waving a hand in his face, but Peeta was unresponsive; seized up in a pain he couldn’t fight. “Capitol ships are dropping bombs! We have to get deeper. Peeta!”

“I can’t!” Peeta gasped through gritted teeth.

“What’s wrong, are you hurt?” Gale looked behind himself. His family was clustered behind him, against the wall letting others flood by. “Go, take the kids and get to that bunker. The doors shut in five minutes.”

Hazelle looked stricken, but hefted Posy up higher on her chest and grabbed the hand of Rory, Vick latched to him. They disappeared down the stairs in the sea of bodies. Gale reached to touch Peeta and he screamed.

“It’s my leg! Something’s wrong! I can _feel_ it.”

Gale’s eyes traced down Peeta’s legs, his hand reaching out to feel for a wound. “What? Where?”

Another stab of pain and Peeta threw his head back into the wall. The throb of pain over took the one in his leg for a second, but it didn’t last. The sound of explosions was now constant. The very ground vibrated as if they were in a car speeding down the cobblestone roads of District Two. A chunk of concrete shattered to the ground next to Gale.

“We have to get you out of here now! Let’s try and get you to stand.” Gale reached forward and helped Peeta up to his feet, but a particularly brutal pain pulsed in Peeta’s leg and he collapsed forward into Gale’s chest, clutching at his arms to try and stay up.

“No… I can’t.” Peeta bit into his bottom lip, trying to fight back the pain and tears, until it welled with blood. It didn’t make any sense. The pain was so real. He could feel the flesh and muscle contracting, his nerves burning in pain. An explosion boomed above and heat warped the stale air of the stairwell. Children’s screams and panicked shouts funneled through the smoke that now wafted down the stairs.

“Shit.”

Suddenly Peeta’s legs were scooped out from under him and he was hefted into the air in Gale’s arms with a grunt.

“I’ve got you.” He said and then started jogging down the stairs. Peeta jostled in Gale’s arms. He threw his hands around Gale’s neck nestling his head in the crook where Gale’s shoulder and neck met, holding on for dear life as pain throbbed through the leg he didn’t have. 

Gale rested his chin against Peeta’s head, holding him tighter to his chest as if he were protecting a child. Each step down expelled a harsh breath from his lips, but Gale never stopped a constant stream of soothing words. “I’m not letting go. It’ll be okay. _You’re_ going to be okay. Think of something peaceful. The forest beyond District Twelve. That time on the cliffs when we watched the clouds pass. Focus on breathing and I’ll get you to safety.”

At some point, through all the chaos and screams, bone-rattling explosions and strained embrace, Peeta found peace in his mind. The smell of Gale’s skin against his nose was strong of sweat, but with hints of burnt wood and evergreen, a pleasant reminder of home. He hoped he never lost the smell. The pain ebbed slowly and Peeta eventually came back to reality. It was like a switch had flipped in his brain and he could no longer feel the presence of his left leg again. He lifted his head from the crook of Gale’s neck and regretted the loss of smell, almost like losing home all over again.

Looking around the first thing Peeta found were the worried blue eyes of Gale. Then he absorbed the rest of his surroundings and realized they were in the vast bomb bunkers located deep in the earth. Large impenetrable doors were just sliding shut as the last few stragglers slipped through. Everyone was packed in tight and the lighting was dim, the air cold and moist. It wouldn’t do well to be trapped down here long. But all Peeta could think was how grateful he was for the pain to be over. Then he realized he was still sitting in Gale’s lap. He offered a shy smile before pushing off. Gale’s arms flexed, as if he didn’t want to let go, before snapping back to his side.

“Sorry, I—You going to be okay?”

Peeta stood, tentatively putting pressure on the prosthetic, fearful it might trigger the ghost pain again. Gale watched him closely. He stood with him, ready to catch Peeta if he fell. Gale’s eyes softened suddenly as he reached forward and brushed dust from Peeta’s forehead. Peeta pulled away from the hand then felt his face heat with shame.

“Yeah, yeah I think so. Well who knows, none of us may be…” Peeta shrugged and surveyed their surroundings feeling awkward. Children sobbed in fear, many separated from their parents. Some people wandered in a daze like the living dead, covered in blood and dust, eyes vacant. Medics dispersed through the crowd with supplies gathered from some unknown location. Others began passing out blankets and water. Recovery mode had begun. The pieces trying to be picked back up. The faint sound of bombs still rattled in the distance.

“What happened back there?”

“I don’t really know. It was… at first it was like my leg was still there and bent in the wrong position, the muscles cramping. I couldn’t fix it and it was so painful. Then—well it just got worse. You saw.”

“You should rest,” Gale pushed Peeta back down despite his protests. “I’ll get you some water and a blanket.”

“That’s not necessary,” Peeta resisted. “Please, go look for your family. I’ll be fine. I just need a moment to my self.”

The look on Gale’s face was torn, Peeta could tell he didn’t want to leave Peeta because he didn’t believe he was fine, but he also really wanted to find his family. Peeta really just needed him gone though, it was too confusing having him this close and caring so damn much. It made Peeta feel like an ungrateful brat for still being so distant.

“ _Please._ ”

A flicker of hurt crossed over Gale’s eyes, but he covered it well with a smile Peeta almost believed.

“Okay, but once I find them I’m coming to get you.”

As soon as he disappeared from sight into the sea of people—everyone was a refugee at the moment now—Peeta relocated. A group of soldiers were unloading foldout cots and setting them up in rows. Peeta hoped they wouldn’t be down here long enough to need them. He felt bad for ditching Gale, but he seriously had no idea what to do with what just happened. He had _felt_ his leg and it greatly disturbed him, almost getting him killed in a bomb raid. How was he supposed to do his job if at a moments notice his amputated leg could completely incapacitate him? And then Gale had to save him and make him feel safe and whole again. Why couldn’t Cato have been there to save him? That would have made it all less complicated, but Cato hated him now. And the space in his chest persisted.

Before setting down to rest, Peeta moved on to search for his father and friends. He quickly found Finnick and Annie. Her hysterical laughing led him straight to them. Finnick had obtained two cots for them and was trying to soothe Annie with soft cooing noises like she was a baby. Meanwhile she continued to laugh unabashedly and full-throated from one of the cots.

“Is there anything I can do?” Peeta asked, crouching down next to Finnick as he stroked Annie’s arms up and down.

Finnick shook his head but kept his eyes on Annie.

“Thanks for offering, but no. I’m afraid it’s just going to take time. The bombs brought back some unpleasant memories. She doesn’t handle them well.” Finnick leaned over Annie and pulled her hand to his lips, kissing it softly. “Shh, my sweet. It’s over now. Sleep, I’ll be right here when you wake and the world will be better. You’ll see.”

Feeling like he was intruding on something private Peeta excused himself. He continued to wander through the maze of people and cots, unable to locate his father. Eventually he stumbled into a portion of the bunker turned into a makeshift hospital. He spotted Mrs. Everdeen at one point as he made his way through, fearful whom he might find in this section. She was busy treating a wounded soldier, her hair tied back in a tight bun and her jaw tensed. The right side of the soldier’s face was badly burned and a piece of shrapnel protruded from the side of his right thigh. She had been kind enough to offer a wave and tell him Primrose was around helping more injured, putting his mind at ease, mostly. He moved on, unable to stomach all the blood and charred flesh. It smelled harsh of antiseptic and burning charcoal. He found an empty cot and took a seat, needing a rest.

Warm and startlingly sympathetic chocolate eyes connected with Peeta across a field of traumatized citizens. Then the built frame of Cato pushed his way through the crowd coming straight for Peeta, his eyes never leaving Peeta’s. He wasn’t sure what to do; his body grew tense like a wire pulled taut. They hadn’t spoken to each other since the confrontation by the elevators. It was so devastating Peeta felt like he was still pin-wheeling through space from it and had yet to stop. What could he possibly want now?

Well he was about to find out as Cato came to a stop before him, arms folding then unfolding nervously. Peeta stood to meet him, uncomforted by Cato towering over him.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“You have?” Peeta’s heart lifted. He tried to keep his face smooth and disinterested, but he couldn’t deny he was excited by the turn of events.

“Yeah…there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Oh.” Peeta’s emotion’s immediately plummeted. So he wasn’t seeking Peeta out because he had been worried for him after the attack. He was just here to impart some information, perhaps more hateful words?

“Can we sit?”

He spoke softly as if not to scare Peeta off and Peeta grew anxious. A tingling sensation ran over the surface of his skin that made him want to crawl out of it. He knew it was something bad, he just didn’t know what.

They sat next to each other on the stiff cot, it sank with Cato’s weight and he fell into the dip towards Cato. He had to throw out a hand to hold himself away from him. It would be so easy to just let go and fall into Cato, but he knew better. Cato’s hair was grey with dust and there was a trickle of dried blood that ran down the side of his face. Peeta took this all in just to avoid looking in Cato’s eyes. There was something in there and he knew he couldn’t face it.

“Peeta—“ Cato’s voice broke and Peeta flinched. His whole body went stiff. All the blood rushed to his head. He knew what was coming, even before Cato said it. “I was in the cafeteria for breakfast when the bombing started. The whole left side caved in. Where—where the kitchen is—or was.”

_No. No, I just got him back._

“I— _ahem_ —I’m so sorry, but I saw your father…” Cato clasped his hand over Peeta’s. It was so warm and strong like heated steel. He yearned to be held and protected by them again, but instead he pulled away and shut down. Cato swallowed and withdrew his hand back into his lap. The darkness Peeta had seen in him flitted over his face like the passing of a shadow. It was the same darkness that resided within Peeta.

Two days passed in the bomb shelter.

The bombs still dropped.

Peeta’s father was still dead. 

Over the course of the two days many people came to Peeta. Some wishing just to lay eyes on the Mockingjay, others looking for help or comfort. Peeta was overwhelmed. People looked up to him, they relied on him and Peeta couldn’t shoulder the burden. Fault lines opened over his reality as Peeta’s nightmares slipped into his waking moments: a dying senior morphed into a cackling Snow; the plastic knife Peeta used to spread cheese paste on the stale crackers provided for dinner turned into a bloody arrow; a young man that tried to shake Peeta’s hand turned into an accusing Beetee, always reminding him murder lay in his heart. The stain of innocent blood would never wash from his hands.

Hallow. That was the best way to describe the feeling. Ever since Cato tore off that engagement ring and things ended between them a space had opened up inside him and it only grew bigger everyday. The loss of his father, again, solidified the permanence of the space. He would always have a hole in his chest and no matter what he tried to fill it with nothing would take.

On the third day—when emotions were tense, the desperation high, coughs developed from the damp air, and people started fighting for space and limited food—the bombings stopped.

Peeta had receded to a corner of the massive bomb shelter, having withdrawn from all contact that he could when Haymitch found him. He ripped the sweat soaked blanket off of Peeta and kicked the side of his cot unceremoniously.

“Get up.”

Opening one eye Peeta stared blankly at Haymitch. “What?”

“Come on, enough of this. Up.” Haymitch stared back with dark circles under his eyes. His hair hung in clumped sheets, greasy from going unwashed so long, hygiene having been sacrificed in the bunker. “People have been looking for you, relying on you. We have a debriefing and it’s your responsibility to be there.”

“I can’t.”

“That’s not in my vocabulary anymore. Nor is it in yours. Now get up, change out of that pit stained shirt and meet me in the conference room in ten.”

Haymitch then marched away with out waiting. Peeta sat up. His bones creaked from disuse. Looking around Peeta saw the massive steel doors were open and people pouring out. Peeta put on a shirt that smelled marginally better and tugged on his jeans. He moved almost mechanically. There was no emotion behind it, his eyes blank like shallow pools on the pavement, and his face sagged with fatigue.

The atmosphere was triumphant. People whooped and hollered; they made it. They had survived again. The Capitol had tried and failed to kill District’s Twelve and Thirteen again. It was contagious. Except for Peeta. It glanced off him like rain off a windshield. He reached the stairwell—the very same Gale had carried him down—and stared at his feet as he climbed up, his real, living foot taking a step up, then the mechanical replacement for a foot following past to the next step; over and over again until he reached the thirteenth floor.

The military complex on that floor was coming back to life. The control room filling back up with its staff as they went about checking systems and gathering intel. Workers hurried to clean the shattered glass of the broken floor-to-ceiling windows. Soldiers returned to training. Life was beginning anew for Thirteen. The war continued.

A large and familiar frame stood before the conference room. Cato.

“Yeah?” He turned around. Peeta hadn’t realized he’d spoken. Cato’s eyebrows shot up in surprise like he hadn’t expected it was Peeta. “Oh.” He twitched like he wanted to move forward, but was yanked back at the exact same time by some unknown force. Then he jerked his shoulders, freeing himself of the unknown grasp and Peeta was suddenly enveloped in warmth. Strong arms pooled around his back and tugged him in against the solidly familiar chest. Peeta’s arms remained by his side. Peeta pulled his head back and looked away. He saw Plutarch Heavensbee with his Capitol lackey’s through the door. Plutarch’s eye’s lit up when he saw Peeta then he smiled and raised his coffee mug in cheers. Peeta’s body went rigid in Cato’s arms.

Pulling back, Cato eyed Peeta up and down, his face screwed up in confusion.

“What’re you saying?”

Peeta didn’t seem to realize but he was speaking. The whole time he’d been muttering the same words over and over. “…The good of everyone. For the good of everyone. For the _good_ of everyone.”

Cato stepped back; worry set into deep grooves on his forehead.

“It _will_ end.”

“Hey, stop. Stop it. Peeta, snap out of it, god damn it!” He shook Peeta violently and suddenly his eyes snapped to Cato’s. 

Boggs stepped into the hallway, his eyes narrowed analytically.

“Is there a problem, boys?”

Peeta turned and smiled at Boggs. “No, none at all. We were just talking about strategy. We’ll be right in.”

Boggs looked to Cato, unconvinced. Cato tried to pull his face together and nod in agreement. Peeta watched absently. Boggs rolled his jaw and threw one last distrustful look at Peeta—who continued smiling blandly—before going back in. 

“What the hell was that?” Cato asked as soon as it was just the two of them, but Peeta just cocked a vapid smile at him and shrugged. Cato frowned darkly, his eyes mistrustful.

“I got a little stir-crazy, that’s all. All’s fine now. Let’s go in.”

President Coin launched right into it as soon as everyone was seated. Boggs listed from a report the details of the attack, a break down of the damage to infrastructure, loss of supplies, food, and people. It all rolled off Peeta’s back like raindrops. Apparently the bomb raid was direct retaliation for the destruction of the Nut. Cato’s head fell to the table, his arms covering his face. The war was escalating at terrible costs. Heavensbee blubbered ineffectually about something and spilled his coffee all over the table with his wide gesticulating. Peeta looked to Haymitch who had taken a seat directly across from him. His face was pale, but his eyes were locked on the center of the table determinedly. Flavius mopped up the spill with her gold handkerchief. Cato continued to shoot looks at Peeta from his usual spot next to Lyme through out the rest of the meeting, but Peeta ignored everything and kept his face composed, eyes only on Haymitch while slowly his heart rate began to rise, thumping hard in his chest.

Finally, after nearly two-hours of debating and politicking, President Coin called their meeting to a close. Everyone was excused. Peeta stood and his head throbbed. He watched as Cato moved to come to him—his eyes heavy with burden—when Haymitch came around the table and reached him first.

“Can I hold you up for a moment? We need to talk.”

“Sure,” Peeta responded, looking over Haymitch shoulder at Cato as he backed out of the conference room. The door closed shut with a soft click and then they were alone.

“I’m sorry for being so hard on you earlier,” Haymitch began, but Peeta had trouble hearing it. He saw Haymitch’s lips moving, but there was no sound attached, just a rushing in his ears. His muscles seized, his fingers clenched in on his palm before stretching out straight. He could feel the strain in his bones all the way to the marrow.

“I know a lot of pressure is resting on you and with your father…” Haymitch trailed off, concern crossing over his face. “Are you okay?”

“It will be.” Peeta spoke, eyes wide.

There was a beat of silence. Then Peeta surged forward at Haymitch.

Haymitch was caught off guard and knocked back against the table. It hit him in the mid-back and he yelped, but it was quickly cut off as Peeta’s hands wrapped around his neck. Peeta’s blood boiled and his stomach knotted in pain, every muscle screaming out as he tightened his grip around Haymitch’s neck. His eyes latched on to Peeta only egged him on. Haymitch threw his hands up and between Peeta’s arms, chopping them away. Peeta maneuvered quick and smacked them aside in a fluid motion. He followed through with a punch to the side of Haymitch’s head. He was sent reeling. He knocked to the side, chairs scattering across the room as he fell to the floor. Peeta climbed atop him and carefully wrapped his hands back around Haymitch’s neck, squeezing. He could feel the rapid beat of Haymitch’s pulse against his sweaty palm. The scruff of his neck grated against the skin of his hand as Haymitch thrashed beneath him, but Peeta kept hold, a knee pinned on each of Haymitch’s arms. His legs kicked out behind Peeta in vain. Peeta’s heart crashed against his ribs. _Thwump, thwump_. His fingers gripped tighter. Then slowly, yet surely the movements and thrashing died down. Haymitch’s eyes were almost as emotionless as Peeta’s. His face turned blue, dark bruises formed at the edges of skin visible beneath Peeta’s fingers. Then finally his eyes closed and his legs fell still. His body went slack beneath Peeta.

It was time. Peeta’s heart hammered, his breath came in violent bursts as he stood up. He surveyed the scene before him. A small blotch of blood welled on Haymitch’s lip, his body twisted askew from the struggle, but now motionless and at peace like a bird that crashed from the sky. His neck raw and purple, two distinct handprints left on his skin. Chairs laid scattered about the room. A single drop of blood tarnished the steel conference table.

Peeta took a deep breath.

Then he ran.

* * *

 

Three days later…

It was a particularly dark night. Nary a star was visible in the sky. Clouds hung low in the air pressing down on the earth, creating a noticeable pressure in the air. It pushed against the skin and made one’s head feel tight. The streets of the Capitol were unusually empty too. Trash piled up on front stoops, unattended, and clogged the gutters. Lights flashed on and off along the street. Blinds were pulled shut tight, candle light flickering behind them like willow-the-wisps.  Only one place had reliable power. Situated in the center of the city was Snow’s palace, lit up in a halo of white light. Its lights were so bright they blinded those that approached, an assault to the senses. It wanted to remind everyone of its power. It was still here, standing tall and bright against the dark. A constant. Like the emptiness in Peeta.

A troop of Peacekeepers escorted a haggard and beat Peeta into the heart of the palace. His eyes never strayed from the path in front of him. Metal cuffs behind his back bound his hands tight, yet he still walked with a rigid upright posture. He was forced to a stop before two dark oak wood doors, the Capitol insignia carved onto either with ivory doorknobs shaped like roses. One of the Peacekeepers knocked twice then waited. Footsteps could be heard clacking across the marble floor. Then the door swung open.

On the other side stood a tall man with dark hair and a jagged scar across his nose. His rusty brown eyes lit up with vile delight, his thin eyebrows drew up.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our favorite little rebel.” Dreg stepped forward and relieved the Peacekeepers of their duty, grabbing Peeta’s upper arm and pulling him into the room.

It was some type of ceremony room. There was an elevated platform where a bank of chairs was lined, the one in the middle resembling some type of sanguine throne of thorns. The space in front of the platform was a large square marked by ionic columns at each corner, the ceiling domed and painted with a fantastical fresco of the twelve districts working towards the greater good of Panem and the Capitol situated in the center like some beacon of hope. Snow was perched on the center throne in a smoky suit with a crimson tie and pocket square. He sipped wine the color of blood from a crystal glass.

Dreg threw Peeta into the center of the square then moved up to take the seat two to Snow’s right. Peeta stumbled then righted himself, rolling his shoulders. The other chairs were filled with various political heads. They didn’t matter. Peeta locked eyes with Snow, staring into their icy depths but the cold didn’t touch him. Nothing could. Then he bowed his head and spoke. 

“The Mockingjay is at your service, President Snow.”


	24. Something Terrible

Ch. 24- Something Terrible

An unseasonably early powdering of snow began to lazily drift down from the grey sky like someone was decorating the city with confectioners' sugar. The fine flurries blurred the skyline of the city through the palace windows and coated the grounds in cottony clumps. It was almost beautiful. Until the troops of Peacekeepers marched through it, the snow melting on their boots and dirt tracking everywhere. Soon the virginal snow was spoiled, mud smears and black snow slush everywhere.

_Sometimes love isn't enough to salvage what can't be fixed._

Standing idly in the center of the ceremony room Peeta watched the snow descend through high arched windows to his right. The only movements in his still body were to be found in his eyes, which drifted downward with the snowfall before working their way back up to start the journey with the snow all over again. The room was alive with the quiet buzz of chatter. President Snow sat back in his bloody throne of thorns, his fingers tips touching in his lap and contemplated. Dreg spoke the loudest, his voice carrying over all the other commanders and political figureheads—obnoxious in his superiority complex. He was also the youngest to have a seat at the bank of chairs.

"Enough." Snow called out and the voices ceased instantaneously. Snow moved forward to the edge of his throne and looked down on Peeta; his ice blue eyes probed Peeta sharply like two jabbing icicles. Peeta stared back calmly, his mind a blank slate. Then the icy eyes snapped to attention over Peeta's left shoulder. He motioned with a hand.

A Peacekeeper stepped forward and marched quickly up to Snow. He bowed his head and held out a slip of paper. Snow stared distastefully and then snapped his finger. A young girl Avox, not capable of being older than fourteen, stepped from behind Snow's chair and moved forward to take the paper. She opened it and held it in front of Snow. He didn't look at her once. One could believe he was completely unaware of her presence if it weren't for the fact that he was now reading the slip of paper held before him.

Scanning the note quickly a satisfied smile slipped across his face, the incongruent white beard on his face twisting wildly with the expression. He snapped his finger again and she returned the paper to the Peacekeeper who bowed again and fled.

"My source confirms that Peeta has turned. He has abandoned District Thirteen after killing his mentor, Haymitch Abernathy, in cold blood." Snow's eyes gleamed murderously as he stared down at Peeta, waiting for a tell. Those around him nodded their heads and murmured triumphantly. "The insurgent's are frantic to keep it under wraps. Lets see how good that does them once the country knows their precious  _Mockingjay_  is a traitor."

President Snow rose to his feet and looked to his left and right at the others before honing in on Peeta.

"It's time to end this war. We will crush them."

_Sometimes you must do something terrible to stop something terrible._

* * *

This was interesting. A personal summons from the 'Office of the President of District Thirteen and Leader of the Alliance of Rebel Districts.' The only time Gale had met the lady was when they first arrived in District Thirteen, after the fight with Cato. Since then Gale had never been included in those closed-door meetings that Peeta attended every day, which he was secure enough to admit hurt his pride. He had been an instrumental leader for the rebellion back in Twelve and worked side-by-side with the secret District Thirteeners sent to support the rebellion. So instrumental that the Capitol abducted him and sent him into the Arena to die. And now he was nothing more than another refugee from Twelve and a low-ranking soldier for the rebel's army. It would have been humiliating if any one seemed to care.

But that wasn't important. He would do what was asked of him and what needed to be done: to end this war, free Panem, and save Peeta. Something had changed in him since he went back into the Hunger Games. Gale had a taste of what it was like now and knew it changed people, but there was something else too, something off in Peeta. He was different. He knew Peeta, knew the person he was and the man he could be, and it seemed Peeta had lost sight of that. He was withdrawn and harsh, broken and hopeless. It didn't make sense.

Now it was one day since the bombings stopped and they were allowed back to their living quarters, and Gale couldn't find Peeta anywhere. When he went to his room he found a new family living there. That was when he learned Mr. Mellark was dead. It was like the bombs dropping all over again and he feared for Peeta—his safety, his sanity. Gale spent the rest of the night searching, unsuccessfully. He even went to ask Cato for help looking for him, despite the sour taste it left in his mouth. But oddly Cato was missing too. Upon returning to his room that morning he found an official waiting for him with the letter. He barely had time to read it before he was escorted to the thirteenth floor.

The stiff soldier led him past the usual conference room utilized by President Coin and instead in lead him to the right through the buzzing control room, weaving through desks and people furiously working away on computers and other advanced technology he'd never seen. They came to a stop at a pair of steel doors and the man put his palm on a monitor to the right of the doors. It beeped and then slid open. They entered and Gale was then lead down another hallway, passing by an equally stiff female soldier, and to the second door on the left. Two armed guards were stationed on either side, neither of them looked at him. The soldier stopped before entering and signaled for Gale to go inside. He took in the two guards and the quiet hallway, unsure. The soldier gave a nudge to his back and the decision was forced on him.

Inside the room Gale found he wasn't the only one that had received the summons. Johanna and Finnick were both seated at the rectangular table near the end. No one else was present. Gale took in his surroundings like he always did before taking a seat. He didn't trust new people or places. It always put him on edge when he was thrust into a new environment because it meant he wasn't in control, he didn't have an exit strategy and he didn't know what was going to happen. The same went with new people.

"What do you think they're guarding?" Gale asked with a jerk of his head back at the guards by the door as he took the seat next to Johanna. She was slouched in the chair with her feet on the table as if she didn't have a care in the world, Finnick next to her sat rigid with worry lines tarnishing his pretty boy face.

"Us." Johanna said, picking at her nails.

"Why?"

"They don't trust us, obviously." Johanna twisted in her seat to give a sneer at the guards. They didn't notice.

They sat in silence for a moment.

"So anyone know what this is about?"

"The very survival of this District and the war." President Coin answered, striding fast into the room followed by an entourage of Boggs, Heavensbee, his assistants, Lyme, and Cato.

Everyone sat to attention, even Johanna, pulling her feet off the table and sitting forward, although somewhat resentfully. Everyone took a seat opposite the three guests except President Coin and Boggs. Gale immediately noticed Peeta was missing. He had an unsettling feeling in his chest. Gale had developed a connection with Peeta—even if Peeta denied it, which had been extremely upsetting to listen too, but that was a thought for another day—and he had been feeling off, like his body was tuned to a frequency only Peeta gave off and no one else could hear or feel it. But he did, and it vibrated in his skin, his veins, his bones, the very core of his being. The feeling had only grown as yesterday wore into today and he couldn't find Peeta. The frequency fine-tuned over the hours until his skin practically burned with the friction. He would burn away if he didn't get answers soon.

"Where's Peeta?" Gale demanded, practically vibrating from his chair.

All eyes turned to him—even Cato's and he looked furious, but he'd looked that way since they escaped the Quarter Quell, so what else was knew? Something was seriously off with that guy. Gale took the time to note everyone's condition, the raw red markings around Cato's wrists like he'd been restrained, the paleness of Lyme's face and the deep sadness in her eyes, the slight mania that transfixed Heavensbee's face into a permanent expression of surprise—but oddly his eyes were clearly focused and suspicious as they speared over the three seated guests—and President Coin's exhausted face sagged with heavy wrinkles, making her look like a woman nearing her eighties, not fifties.

"You mean to tell me none of you know?" Boggs asked, slamming his hands on the table and puffing out his chest like some showy bird; Gale assumed he was going for intimidating. He just came of pretentious. "When was the last time you had contact with him?"

"Do I look like the kids babysitter?" Johanna tossed back, holding his gaze unfazed.

"Johanna," Finnick warned.

"No this is bullshit. They treat us like criminals, keep us under guard and then come in here insinuating things with out telling us what the hell's going on."

"I completely agree." Said Gale. "Either get to the point or I'm out of here."

"Well then, here's your  _point_."

President Coin signaled to a staffer in the corner before she sat directly across from Gale. The room went dim, but her cold grey eyes remained visible and trained on the three seated across from her. Heavensbee leaned forward and squinted through the dark at Gale, reading his face, waiting for something, a sign, of what Gale couldn't possibly know.

Then a hologram at the head of the table lit to life. It was a three-dimensional rendering of the war room where Gale knew them to hold their daily meetings. Gale could never shake that sense of awe and shock at being presented with such fantastical technology, even though during the past month he'd been continually exposed to wild things like muttations and flying ships and massive underground civilizations.

The hologram sped through the scene of a meeting and everyone moved at comical speeds, except nothing was funny at the moment. Then it slowed and the room war room was empty save for Haymitch and Peeta. Gale began to feel hot around the neck. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't good. It was like the feeling he got when on a hunt and he knew a bad storm coming. It wasn't anything he could pinpoint, just a sense that overcame him, a chill to his bones that told him the environment was changing, danger approached. Peeta and Haymitch spoke. There was no sound along with the image so Gale had to guess what they were saying. Haymitch seemed regretful. Peeta was strangely still and vacant. He noticed Peeta's hands flexing oddly. Then suddenly the unthinkable happened. Peeta attacked Haymitch. Haymitch fought back, but Peeta was fast and overpowered him and then he was atop him and strangling the life from Haymitch. Johanna's whole body tensed and a small gush of breath escaped through her nostrils, almost like a sneeze. Finnick groaned. Gale could barely breath. He felt like he was going to be sick. He couldn't watch it anymore and yet he couldn't take his eyes away from the video. It felt like hours, but finally Haymitch's body stopped fighting back and went still. Peeta stood and surveyed the scene. Then he ran from the room and the hologram flickered from existence.

The lights came back on and the world felt different, heavier; everyone looked ill and President Coin looked merciless. The back of Gale's throat burned, he could feel the bile tickling his tonsils, but he swallowed it back down the sour taste lingering in his mouth. His face burned hot. It wasn't real. It couldn't be.

"I found Haymitch shortly thereafter," Heavensbee began, a hand to his heart. "I did my best. I fetched our best doctor—the one that worked on Peeta, to try and save him, but… there was nothing to be done I'm afraid."

"Mr. Mellark stole a hovercraft bike and we lost track of him near District Nine." President Coin said. "Our best guess is that the Capitol picked him up. There has been no news through the typical channels so we must assume they are waiting to use him at the most opportune time. We can't give them that time."

"What are you saying?" Gale rose to his feet and demanded, his reaction quickly moving from shock and denial to anger. "That Peeta betrayed us? He would  _never_ do that. He would  _never_ hurt Haymitch."

"Sit down Mr. Hawthorne." President Coin growled, her patience worn very thin. Gale begrudgingly sat.

"We are asking the questions here."

"Did any of you have prior knowledge that he planned to defect?" Boggs asked.

"Please," Johanna scoffed.

"Answer the question!"

"Fuck… no I didn't, none of us did, alright?"

Gale looked around wildly at the others—at Cato in particular. How could he just sit there and let them smear Peeta's name and accuse them of aiding and abetting his so-called 'defection.'

"Has he been spying all along?"

"No, of course not!" Gale huffed. "This is absurd."

"You saw the security footage my boy," Heavensbee stated. He analyzed Gale with a cocked head, the extra skin below his chin wobbled with his working throat. His assistant noted something in her notebook. She had taken notes every time one of them spoke.

"Did Mr. Mellark give any indication of his intentions? Did you notice anything out of the ordinary in his behavior?" Boggs pressed on, ignoring the disruptions.

"No." Gale said and crossed his arms tight over his chest. He was done with this.

"Wait…" Finnick spoke up, green eyes narrowed in thought.

"Yes, Mr. Odair?" Coin pressed, leaning forward greedily. Gale's head whipped to Finnick in outrage.

"I… I don't know if this means anything. Do not construe it as me casting guilt on Peeta. It's just… the Games do things to everyone. No one leaves that Arena unscathed and Peeta's been through more than most in such a short time…"

"Get on with it." Boggs snapped.

Finnick frowned, but continued. Gale wished he would stop. He was supposed to be Peeta's friend. They all were. This was beyond wrong, all of it.

"After Peeta was shocked by the force field, well he went into a coma of sorts as I'm sure most of you saw. When he woke something changed—he was different. I don't know how to explain it, but he was acting off and maybe has been since."

Heavensbee released an exaggerated sigh. All eyes turned to him.

"I'm afraid to say this…"

Funny, it didn't seem to Gale like he was.

"But I do not believe Haymitch was Peeta's first kill."

"What's this Plutarch?" Coin demanded with steely eyes turned on the Capitol defector next to her.

Every muscle in Gale tensed. It was as if the world had turned upside down and he was battling a new inverted gravity with all his might to stay right side up, to not let it take hold of him and tear him away from solid ground, but he was losing. Cato remained visibly detached from the goings on with a cold fury that boiled just beneath the surface. Gale couldn't fathom any of it.

"As you know I keep my ears tuned to the Capitol chatter. When the Gamemakers finally retrieved the bodies from the Quarter Quell Arena they found that Beetee was not in fact killed by the muttations they set after our friend Mr. Gale. Instead he died of multiple stab wounds to the chest. The weapon used? That of an arrow head."

Kicking back from his seat, Gale stood furiously. The chair clattered to the floor overturned.

"I wont listen to anymore of this. If you still think I helped perpetrate some type of espionage against the rebellion, that I helped Peeta  _murder_  his mentor and escape to help end the rebellion  _I_  helped start in Twelve, then arrest me. Otherwise I'm going."

It was a tense standoff between Gale and President Coin. They stared furiously at each other. Then she relented with a roll of the wrist.

"Fine. You may go. But this stays classified and between everyone here. Not a word of this is to leak. If it does you may find yourself wishing you'd been arrested. Understood?"

The implications were evident, but Gale didn't care. He wasn't about to go blabbing anything. Not when he refused to believe it. He stormed from the room and down the hallway to the steel doors he'd entered through. He tried pushing it open, but it wouldn't budge. He pushed into it with all his strength, ripping at the handle, but nothing moved.

"Fuck! God damn it, fuck!" Gale cussed. He threw his body repeatedly into the metal door; each dull thud rang in his ears and jarred his teeth. He could feel the bruises forming as blood vessels burst and flooded to the surface of his skin, but he didn't care. He just continued to kick and hammer with fists against the hard metal.

_Just let me out!_

Gale felt like his whole body was brimming with a violent energy. His skin hummed, his bones sang, his throat contracted and his pupils dilated, taking in everything in vivid detail. If he didn't escape he would explode. Suddenly the doors swooped open with a hiss of air and Gale fell through it. A woman jumped back, startled on the other side. He shoved past her and ran through the control room like a man fleeing death. He ran, through hallways and up stairs, through wreckage and past construction workers doing repairs, until the muscles in his legs screamed in protest and his lungs burned with the fire of exhaustion until finally crisp, cool autumn air expanded them.

The sky was an oppressive grey in all directions and the smell of smoke still tainted the air, but it was relief like breaking out of years of captivity. Gale took refuge in the sparse collection of spruces to the east. He rested on his back, felt the solid earth beneath his skin and watched the clouds churn above him, all the while focusing on his breaths. Gravity was some what restored. He was back among the trees and dirt, animals and wide-open space. It wasn't home, but it was an environment he was familiar with, a consistency he craved since being abducted from Twelve and had been since denied. He missed home. Ever since Katniss's name was called in the reaping everything had changed. And it kept changing. It was like trying to hold onto water in a raging river, every time he grasped at something it just slipped through his hands.

Some days he hated her for being in the woods that afternoon. Other days he hated himself for having been so weak as to fall prey to her defiant and yet pleading olive green eyes. But either way it didn't matter. He made the decision to help her, to teach her to hunt—to befriend her. And then the unthinkable happened, the Capitol took her and the brute from Four murdered her before his very eyes. He could see it as vivid as that hologram—the small blade expelled from his meaty fist and hitting her square in the back. There was nothing he could do. He had vowed to never feel that helpless again. Then Peeta came and started sticking his nose where it didn't belong. He made Gale feel useless, like he couldn't help his family, like he wanted to take Gale's place in Katniss's family, and so he lashed out—Peeta chosen as the enemy he could fight, not the internal ones, not the Capitol. But then he stubbornly refused to take Gale's shit. Somehow he weaseled his way beneath Gale's skin and one day, when he was least expecting it, he found he could no longer hate the man.

It was another day—out in those damn woods where he kept meeting the strays and outcasts of Twelve—that he found Peeta like he found Katniss. Desperation and defiance played out in equal measure in his eyes and Gale knew he could never turn his back on the man again. He buried his demons and took up residence in the warm light of hope that exuded from Peeta. He didn't know it, but his presence had an effect on people, Peeta made them believe there was a better world out there if they just reached for it and took it. With the threat of losing someone again when the Quarter Quell announcement came Gale was forced to realize how important Peeta was in his life. He couldn't lose him. Not him too. And yet realistically he knew there was a chance he might go back and so thus their escapes to the woods outside Twelve became training.

Then one afternoon while they were talking it hit Gale like a strike of lightning, infused so deep inside his being, like the very essence of his DNA was melded with the need, that he knew he'd never be free of him. They had been talking about religion—or more so Gale. But that was something he loved about Peeta, he let him just talk and they could have conversations like that, forbidden one's like religion. Gale had said something about how there had to be a reward for all this and then Peeta had responded  _you make your own rewards. You can't wait for it to get better. You make it better yourself._

It was in that moment Gale knew he loved him. It didn't even occur to him what that meant, if he was gay or not. All he knew was he loved this man and he was done waiting for life to get better, he would make it better starting with Peeta. And from that moment on everything changed again. And it kept changing, fast and furious until Gale looked around and realized there was nothing left he recognized anymore. But it was all worth it, as long as Peeta was there, as long as they were fighting. Because Gale had this dream that one day they'd wake up and the world would be a better place, and Peeta would there for it and Gale could finally show him that there was a happy ending to be had, peace to be found.

Gale knew he loved Peeta more than he could ever love Gale. He knew he always would and sadly that was enough for him. Even knowing someone else had Peeta's love first was okay with Gale, because he knew that someday, at some point in time Peeta would return his love if given the chance. No matter how small, or how miniscule it was it didn't matter to Gale because he'd finally have a piece of Peeta's love and that was enough. That would always be enough.

* * *

It was getting old. All the secrecy and lies. Primrose wasn't an idiot, nor was she some child that they could easily hide the truth from. She knew when people were lying to her, she'd grown very good at detecting it after years of being coddled and protected by her sister from the harsh world of the Seam. She had let Katniss do it then, but she wasn't about to let it continue now.

And so that's how Prim knew that Gale was hiding something. That something was very wrong with Cato and that Peeta was missing and no one would give her an answer as to what the heck was happening. It was four days now since the bombing raid by the Capitol ended and they were allowed back into their sleeping quarters. And it was four days since Prim had caught a glimpse of Peeta. Four days since she'd seen anything but anger on Cato's face.

She hated how now that they were out of the Quarter Quell everyone went back to babying her. She had more than proved that she could take care of herself and yet now that they were back in relative safety she was somehow too young to be involved. Everyone else got to train for war or be involved in battle strategies and Prim had to sit by and watch. She was basically invisible again.

Which is why she took to medicine. She already knew more than her mom thought she did when it came to healing and when the bombings happened Prim was finally able to prove herself adept at something again. But now something was happening. They were mobilizing for something big. The whole district was alive in a way she'd never seen since arriving there. Military personnel scrambled about everywhere more frantic than usual, the service elevators were always in use with supplies and weaponry being loaded and unloaded.

So Prim set out to finally get some answers. She scoured the dorms for Cato or Gale—any familiar face would do. But no one was around. Prim then made her way down to the Thirteenth floor where she knew the base of military operations lived. It was there that she finally found a familiar face. Multiple.

They were all standing around in front of the bay of elevators like they had been waiting there all this time for her to find them. Except they were really in the middle of discussions over something to do with stolen trains, the Capitol and the forward line. President Coin was doing most of the talking while Boggs, Cato and Johanna listened. Heavensbee was with them too, but didn't seem to be paying too much attention as he shifted his weight back and forth on his feet. There were two guards near Coin. Prim didn't care if she was interrupting. She cleared her throat and pulled on Cato's arm.

"I need to talk to you."

Cato looked down at Prim in surprise.

"In a minute," He murmured before turning back to the group.

Prim wasn't having it. "No, now."

This time his eyes met hers and she took a step back. There was no light in them. There was only a dangerous warning.

"I said not now. You need to go, this doesn't involve you."

"I'm tired of being spoken to like a child!" Prim stomped her foot and was keenly aware of how childish she looked at that moment. But she didn't care. Peeta was missing and no one seemed to care!

One of the elevators dinged its arrival when everyone in the group turned to stare at Prim and her childish outburst. President Coin looked the most intense before the corner of her lip cracked up in the slightest indication of a smile. Just as she was going to speak a man walked up behind them, lifted his arm and fired the gun in his hand three successive times. The two guards fell to the floor. Something hot and wet splattered all over Prim's face and her ears stung with the crack of the gun. She looked on in horror at President Coin. Her face was frozen with that half smile and for a second Prim believed she was okay. Then blood gushed from the hole in her forehead and her body crumpled to the floor. Her knees hit first, before the rest of her body fell forward face first, a pool of blood quickly spreading out in a halo around her head. Prim brought a hand to her face, pulled it back and saw it was coated with blood and tiny pink bits of something far worse. That was when Prim screamed. That was when everything went to hell.


	25. The Real Enemy Part 1

Ch. 25- The Real Enemy Part 1

Days or hours passed inside the windowless cell, Peeta wasn't sure. It didn't matter. He would wait as long as was required of him. He sat in the center of the barren concrete cell, back straight, legs crossed, eyes dead ahead. The air was stale and dank. A piece of uneaten bread grew moldy in the corner. An unused bucket resided in the other, the fetid smell that permeated from it a clear indicator of its purpose and a stark reminder of the circumstances. The only sound was the faint pulse of his heart like the distant beat of a drum, strong and steady, beating on and on, echoing through the hallow space in his chest, never failing. The darkness closed in, surrounded, oppressed.

He was on the verge of being consumed.

He was lost.

* * *

"Alma Coin has been assassinated."

The knife sliced through the blood orange, cleaving it in half and leaking its sticky red juice across the surface of the porcelain plate. Snow set down the utensil and looked up at the Peacekeeper who had delivered the news. The man held contact with Snow's eyes for a moment before realizing his mistake and quickly bowed his head. He took a nervous shuffle back.

Everyone at the long stretch of table stopped what they were doing and looked to their leader with bated breath. Many were exhausted, eyes blood-shot and pushed to the breaking point. The rebellion had turned as ruthless and destructive as the previous one though none of them had lived through it. Fear, an emotion they weren't accustomed too—besides when it came to President Snow—became a dominant factor in their daily lives. But now they held greedy hope in their eyes like starving dogs with a juicy steak dangled before them. They spotted an end to the dark days, a path to victory.

With a suppressed grin President Snow waved off the Peacekeeper. He was feeling particularly merciful all of a sudden. He pushed back from the table and stood. The scrape of wood against the tile multiplied across the dinning hall as everyone else rose to stand with him, lunch forgotten.

"It is time to end this war."

Everyone agreed vigorously. Dreg daringly met Snow's gaze and stepped forward from the line of political figureheads.

"Now's the time to exploit the  _Mockingjay_."

"But how can we trust him? Are we just supposed to take his word?" Another man asked. Others murmured in agreement.

An evil glint sparked in Snow's cold blue eyes. Things were finally falling into place. The time was now. The time was theirs. They would wipe out the pathetic rebels once and for all. He would crush their spirits so resolutely that for generations to come, their children's grandchildren would feel the empty ache of loss and the sharp sting of fear so debilitating they would never think again of biting the hand that fed them, instead slaving away to prove their worth to their masters.

"We will use Mr. Mellark. But first one final test of allegiance. To prove his old self is truly gone. Then we will reveal him to the country and watch as their precious rebellion crumbles. The boy on fire will be the final spark that burns them to the ground, then we'll scorch the earth and make sure the seeds of discontent are never able to sprout again."

* * *

Chaos. Screams. Running. Blood. Another fired gun; the assassin, shot in the leg as he attempted to flee was beat with legs and hands and the butt of a gun while he was down before superiors could get hold of the scene and put him under arrest. Medics rushed in. Feeble attempts at resuscitation were made when everyone knew it was too late, it was no use. Primrose stood frozen among it all like a statue, the crowds parting around her, rushing to help, to try to do something. Anything.

Johanna noticed Prim. She was the only one that did. She swooped in, draped an arm over Prim's shoulder and escorted her to the elevator, up and away. As the doors shut on the scene of chaos before her she noticed two things. One was Cato. He was stoic, wholly unaffected. He just stood to the side, a misting of red across the right side of his body, and stared. She remembered how dangerous his brown eyes had looked before, when she was pestering him for information before the gun went off and tore through President Coin's skull, taking with it the last semblance of peace and order. Now there was nothing. Everything was gone and they were just watching, waiting, for what Prim didn't know and maybe she didn't want to know.

Second was Mr. Heavensbee. He also had a fine coating of blood that stained his canary yellow jacket. He talked rapid fire with someone else, Boggs she thought his name was. Heavensbee was spouting orders and taking control and he seemed to relish it.

The doors closed on the scene before Prim and a shudder ripped through her body. Johanna's fingers tightened briefly against the round of Prim's shoulder then she crouched down on her right knee.

"How's it going pigtails?"

Prim had forgotten her mother did her hair this morning. She let her do it in the signature braided pigtails even though she hated them. She felt they were too childish, but she couldn't bring herself to tell her mother that. She knew how her mom desperately tried to cling to some sense of normalcy and if that meant letting her have her little baby girl for a little while longer who was she to deny it?

"I've seen worse things."

It was true and it made her feel a little better to say it out loud. It was a sad fact, but true. She had suffered through far worse and more was probably on the horizon—even though she had never seen someone shot before. When they toted Riece up to the stage after he started the whistle her mother had acted quick, like she knew exactly what was coming, and covered Prim's eyes as Gale fought a way through the crowd for them and his family to escape before the rioting started. That had been her first real taste of terror, but it was by no means her last.

"That's right. And you'll see worse before this is all over." Johanna seemed uncharacteristically grim. She was usually full of inappropriate energy and snappy rejoinders. "People like to keep things from kids—"

"I'm not a kid."

"I know that," Johanna volleyed back, a spark of that familiar fire returning for being interrupted. "But they see how young you look and want to protect you. It's instinctive, but it isn't always good. You need to be prepared, they can't shelter you from the bad, and you know more than your fair share of evil. It'll only cripple you when the time comes to fight and it is coming. So I'm going to tell you what the others won't and it's up to you to decide for yourself what you want to do with the information…"

By the time the elevator door opened on the third floor, where both Prim and Johanna were housed, Prim bolted. Peeta, Haymitch… She ran as fast as her legs could carry her until she reached the communal showers where she stripped, threw her blood stained clothes in the trash bin and turned on the shower, as hot as it would go. Once steam clouded the air and it was deemed sufficiently hot enough, Prim stepped under the scalding spray and let her skin burn.

Later that night, when Prim was lying in bed, her skin still tender to the touch, she dreamt of Peeta. He was by her bed singing a lullaby, like he did that night on the train, when he promised to protect her.

" _Forget your woes and let your troubles lay_

_and when again it's morning, they'll wash away…"_

Haymitch watched over the two from the doorway as Peeta sang the soothing tune next to her in bed. She remained still and watched the stars dance in the free and open sky above them where the ceiling should have been. If she lifter her hand she could almost touch them.

" _And here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true,_

_Here is the place where I love you."_

When she woke that morning Primrose knew with certainty in her heart like she knew that the sun would rise and set each day that he would never turn his back on her, on them. It wasn't in Peeta's heart to betray those who needed them—especially not now. And she knew she had to convince Cato of this too, for she saw it in his eyes, how lost he was. He was at the precipice and there was very little time left to pull him back before he fell.

Dressing fast, Prim rushed from the room determined to find the proof she needed that would make Cato see, make him believe again. But once she was out of her room—past the flurry of activity as people raced about in frantic preparation for something—and in the elevator she floundered. It had seemed so easy when she woke this morning, when it was an idea fresh in her mind. But now she had to execute it and she didn't know where to start. Where would she find proof? Peeta's room? Another family had already taken it—same with Haymitch's. Then she thought the scene of the crime might be a good place to start.

On the ride deeper into District Thirteen people got on and off the elevator and Prim was privy to their whispered conversations and the gossip that ran rampant. There were rumors of assassins and Capitol spies everywhere, distrust and finger pointing now commonplace. It seeped its way into everyone's mindset and Prim could see the rebellion's future as clear as day. Soon it would be ripped apart from the inside as fellow rebel turned on rebel. But worst of all were the whispers about Peeta. No one knew the truth, not yet. But idle speculation on his disappearance paired with the recent assassination made everyone wary of the top leaders. Some believed him dead too. Others gossiped about his health, having heard from someone who knew someone else that Peeta's mind was unstable, that he was crazed. Prim wanted to scream at them. They didn't know Peeta, not like her. They had no right to say such things about him.

Once on the Thirteenth floor Prim realized why everyone was on such high alert. Not only because of their leader's assassination, but because they were prepping for assault on the Capitol. The control bay was mostly empty save for the skeleton crew that was to man the District and aide from the computers the launching of the war machines and securing of the Capitol.

Prim crept along the walls towards the conference room she knew to be the one that was used by Peeta. She tried pulling the handle of the steel door, but it wouldn't budge. It was locked. She hissed in frustration. She didn't know what she was doing or what the heck she was even looking for, she was just desperate for some type of proof. She heard noise behind her, people talking as they left the control bay. She ran further down the hall away from the voices. She didn't know why she ran, she just knew she didn't want to be caught and forced back up to her floor.

Suddenly a door to her right opened and she almost ran into it. Two people walked out and away from her, not even noticing her standing behind the door when it swung closed. One was Heavensbee, the other an assistant of his. They were talking in hushed voices and their feet moved fast down the hall and around the corner, in a direction Prim didn't know where it led. But she had a feeling, like the certainty she had this morning. It sang in her veins and vibrated in her skin.

And so she took off in pursuit of Heavensbee.

* * *

Night had fallen on the Capitol. Peeta stared out the windows as his feet followed behind President Snow and his entourage of Peacekeepers. His wrists chained behind his back. The faint glow of light behind the mountains revealed it was only recently sundown. But dark came quick and heavy. It felt like it could very well be the last time the sun rose. They may never see another. Peeta knew it would be his. He was emptied of all fear—all emotion—lost in the gaping space in his chest.

An aide skidded around the corner franticly. He was dressed in a garish apricot frilled suit. He rushed past Peeta and the guards to pace alongside Snow and read a report.

"The fleet of trains that went missing last week has emerged." The man panted out. "They've been spotted going through Six. And a hovercraft is reported to be flying overhead of it. They'll reach us within the hour. District One has fallen. Commander Paylor's forces have reached the edge of the city. They've begun reconnaissance missions into the cities outskirts."

"Tell the First regiment to pull back to the city center." Snow ordered. "They are not to engage at the border. They are to protect the palace. Have the Second and Third take their posts at the designated ambush points and wait for Commander Dreg's word. That is all."

"What of those outside the evacuation line?" The man asked. "All the civilians, they'll be caught in the cross fire."

"I said," Snow leveled a withering glare at the aide. "That is all."

The aide fumbled with his papers under the stare before he turned on his heel and tore off down the hall the way he had come from. They continued walking. After a short while more they reached an oak door. There were no markings on it or a window to view inside. Snow stood before it with a look of triumph on his face. Peeta was forced to a halt before him, two Peacekeepers on either side of both them.

"Undo his restraints."

One of the Peacekeepers withdrew a key from his pocket and unlocked his cuffs. Peeta cracked his wrists and pulled them to his side. He stared dead ahead. His pinky twitched outward.

"I have one last task for you my boy," Said Snow, eyeing the twitch of Peeta's fingers. As he spoke the foul stench of blood mixed with roses reached Peeta's nose. "Before we can be sure of your allegiance there is one more thing you must do to prove yourself. Before we put you out in the public eye and crush the rebel's spirit by showing them just how corrupted you've become you must kill the person inside this chamber."

President Snow stepped aside from the door with a flourish of his hand and a sadistic smile planted on his face. Then the door opened inward and the Peacekeepers on either side of Peeta shoved him in. He stumbled to a stop near the center of the austere concrete room.

"You have one hour. If she is not dead when I return, you both shall die at the hands of Dreg. I can tell you he is hopeful for your failure. Do not fail me Peeta."

Something clattered to the floor and the door closed with the heavy thud of finality. It reverberated around the empty room shaking loose dust that filtered through the dim light like wayward spirits. What looked like a dirty pile of rags in the distance shook in fright. There was only one light overhead and it barely reached the outer edges of the room, but directly beneath its light glinted the sharp metal edge of a blade. Peeta took a deep breath as he stared at the knife, unmoving.

"P-Peeta?"

The pile of filthy rags had moved, unfurling itself to reveal a small human figure, delicate as porcelain. The voice was like a call from the past. One so far removed it no longer felt like his. It was small and broken and impossible. But then the figure stood on two shaky legs and stepped hesitantly into the light, shielding her eyes against its glow like it was her first encounter with the sun. The fiery red-orange hair that showed through the layers of dirt and grime could only belong to one person: Cato's sister.

Cassadine.

* * *

Primrose tiptoed down the empty halls and held her breath; afraid even the slightest exhale might alert those ahead of her they were being followed. Due to the length of the hallways and the lack of places to hide, she had to wait at the corners for them turn another corner in the hall before she could follow down it. Finally they came to a stop at some service elevators. She hissed as they got on. Where were they going?

Luckily the display above the elevator doors showed they were riding to the sixth floor, the storage bay. But why take the back service elevators? She rushed forward and pressed the button. Her left foot jittered impatiently as she waited for the doors to open. It dinged and opened and she flung inside it jabbing for the sixth floor. The elevator zoomed upwards and she felt like she had left her stomach behind. She knew this could all be pointless or it could lead to disaster, but there was a feeling she just couldn't shake. Call it a woman's intuition. Her mother had always talked about such a thing, but she'd never believed it before. She thought it was just a way to make her father believe he couldn't get anything by her, her woman's intuition always knew.

The elevator reached the sixth floor and let out a loud ding in arrival—Heavensbee and his assistant were close enough that they twisted back to study the seemingly empty elevator. Prim kept her back plastered to the wall to avoid being seen. She held her breath and counted to ten, finger on the button to hold the door open. After peeking out to see if the coast was clear she hesitantly stepped out and saw them climbing aboard the stolen Capitol hovercraft. Its sleek silver coating was disrupted in spots at random, probably from the repairs, which used a different material. This end of the storage bay was darker than the rest. Prim could hear the sounds of soldiers prepping for battle way at the other end of the vast room. It seemed endless in its length. Massive pulley systems were operated to bring the battle equipment to the loading bay on the surface.

The patter of Prim's feet echoed across the storage bay as she circuitously made her way to the hovercraft. She paused at the ramp, staring into the dark mouth of the ship. Her mind urged her on, but her feet stood frozen. She was scared. If she was caught no one knew she was here and she had no excuse for being there. They could do whatever they wanted with her and no one would know.

"Peeta would do it for me." She told herself. Then she steeled her resolve and stepped into the dark gaping maw of the hovercraft.

The soft haze of light that filtered into the cargo bay of the hovercraft guided Prim forward. She stepped lightly around spare electrical wiring yet to be carted out and deeper into the dark. She knew there was a floor above her where the navigation room was and more, but she wasn't sure where to access it. She'd only ever been in the holding bay of these ships, back when she was being flown off to the Arena for what she thought was sure death.

A faint glow appeared further ahead of Prim and she headed towards it. It was a narrow hallway with many door lined along either side. Each one was marked with signs designating its purpose: the engine room, maintenance, escape pod bay, and at the end on the right a supply closet. That was where the faint light spilled from and Prim made her way down the hall, sticking close to the side, ready to duck in a room for cover if the need arose. The closer she got she began to hear voices. Her heart rate picked up along with her footsteps. There was something familiar about one of them.

"—Its been days, what the hell's going on?"

"Please settle yourself."

Prim was mere feet from the cracked door. She could hear everything clearly now. Plutarch Heavensbee had just spoken, but it wasn't his assistant that spoke first. Prim's mind was reeling. It didn't make sense. But nothing did anymore. Not when Peeta was the enemy and Haymitch supposedly murdered and she was here spying on Heavensbee and hearing ghosts speak.

" _Settle_? You keep me locked in here and in the dark for days and I'm supposed to settle cause you tell me?"

Holding her breath, Prim moved to look through the slit of the door left slightly ajar. This was the moment that could change everything. She knew it and so she had to make sure. She had to be smart. She had to  _see_. Her eyes aligned with the opening and adjusted to the light. She prepared for the worst, but hoped for the best. That voice wasn't possible if what she'd learned in the past twenty-four hours was to be believed. She had gone searching for proof knowing it was likely in vain and so it seemed impossible that she had actually succeeded so quickly. And somehow it  _was_  his voice she heard bark back at Plutarch and it  _was_  his face she saw over Heavensbee's large frame through the small opening—impossible as it was. In that moment her heart lifted in triumph like a firework shot into the night sky, bursting bright and proud, before it all crashed back down to the earth in smoldering embers.

"We agreed this was for the best." Heavensbee spoke. He sounded agitated.

"Well I don't agree anymore." Haymitch spat back. "It's done. He made it there, ya said so yourself. Now there's no more need for this charade. Peeta will do what is needed of him, that's his greatest attribute. And biggest fault. So I will do what is needed of me for him and that means ending this before your egotism destroys us all."

Haymitch made to brush past Heavensbee and towards the door, but he refused to budge. Prim was at a loss for what they were talking about. It was too much information in too short of a time to process. And then the unthinkable happened.

"Let me out."

"I'm sorry Haymitch, but I can't let you leave. I can't let you ruin this for me."

The opening wasn't big enough. She couldn't see what was happening.

"Peeta doesn't deserve this!"

"What Peeta does or does not deserve is of no consequence to me."

"I will find a way out. You can't keep me here for ever."

"I never said I would."

Heavensbee pulled something from behind his back. Prim wanted to scream out a warning, but then—CRACK.

The heavy sound of a body dropping to the floor followed the gunshot. Prim fell back from the doorway in horror, her hands clasped so tight to her mouth it cut off the flow of oxygen to her nose. It was all she could do to keep from screaming. There was a ringing in her ears that lingered on from the shot of the gun in such close quarters. Her vision spun in the dark hall. Images of pooled of blood and brain matter flashed before her eyes as she fell back against the opposing wall. She couldn't catch her breath, but if she took her hands away from her mouth she wasn't sure she wouldn't scream. Then she would be dead too.

"I am sorry Haymitch," Heavensbee said, but he didn't sound sorry, he sounded like he had just been put off his lunch. "But you know how this goes. It's like the Hunger Games. You don't win until you're the last one standing and every threat is dead."

The ringing receded enough that Prim heard Heavensbee's heavy footsteps as he turned back towards the door just in time to slip into the closet opposing them. She closed the door and was thrust into total darkness, much like the world around her. She still had yet to take a breath, but she continued to hold it with her back braced against the door until he was gone. Finally his heavy footfalls retreated until the only sound was the furious beat of her heart and the strain of blood pumping in her ears. Only then did she let in a breath. She exhaled it in a gust, gulping in more and more greedily until she became lightheaded and slid down the door, cradling her knees to her chest. Her hands shook violently. Her eyes spun blindly through the dark groping for something solid to hold onto.

What had just happened?

Heavensbee had saved them! He was working for the rebels, for District Thirteen. With out him they would have died in that Arena just like Snow wanted. It didn't make sense. She wanted to kick and scream, tear the flesh from his face, cry and maybe just sleep the year away, only to wake when it was all resolved, for better or worse. She wanted her mother. She wanted Katniss.

Then she realized she was being childish. Peeta was innocent. He was  _innocent_. He needed her. Haymitch did more. So she stood on shaky legs and crept from the dark closet. The hallway was empty and she darted across to the other closed door. It wasn't locked. She didn't know if that was a good or bad sign.

The door creaked open, but it was dark too. She groped for a light switch, finding it on the right side. The supply room snapped alive before her like a still photograph of some gruesome crime scene. There was a dingy cot in the corner tucked between stacks of cleaning supplies and old brooms along with food wrappers scattered across the floor. Haymitch had been living here for days. It really was all some ploy.

"P-Prim?"

"Haymitch you're alive!" Prim gasped and threw herself to her knees before Haymitch. He had crawled to the corner of the room and propped his back against the wall. He was ghostly pale bringing into stark contrast the yellowing bruises ringing the skin of his neck. He held both hands to his stomach, but blood continued to gush out over his fingers like a broken pipe. There was no repairing it. Prim swallowed back her groan.

"H-how'd ya find me?"

Prim shook her head, an errant tear slipping down her cheek. "That doesn't matter now. We have to get you out of here. Get you help."

It was Haymitch's turn to shake his head. His greasy hair flopped about his head and he cringed in sharp pain.

"No. I-it's too l-late for me. I'm—" A violent cough erupted from Haymitch and blood dribbled down the side of his mouth.

" _Please_." Prim begged, "It's never too late!" She reached forward and tried to lift him up, but he only hissed in pain and pulled back.

"I'm o-okay with it. I-I made my peace with death a long t-time ago." He gave Prim a crooked smile, lifting a hand to wipe away the blood, but only managing to smear more across his chin. "You have to listen to me b-because it's v-very important that you un-understand."

It was too much. Too much blood. Too much pain and suffering. Too much death and loss for her to take. She really was just a little girl, no matter how hard she tried to be strong for those she loved; to be strong like her sister.

"I know, I know…" Prim couldn't help it. The tears came, hot and fast, burning tracks down her cheeks like trails of wildfire. Her body screamed for action, to do something, anything, but her mind knew better. She finally understood what Peeta went through with Katniss. How he knew it was time to give up the fight and just be there for her as she passed. It was not fair. It was too much of a burden for one person. But she would do it.

"Peeta's n-not c-crazy." Haymitch choked out around the blood.

"I never believed it. That's how I found you."

A real smile spread across Haymitch's face. He was no longer trying to hold in the blood, but it flowed slower now. Prim's throat felt like it was scorched. She wasn't sure she could speak anymore. Not with out the howls she'd been holding in finally finding their way to the surface. Since Peeta left things had begun to crack. Now everything was finally breaking. Shattering to a million little pieces and she wasn't sure how they could ever be put back together again.

"It's time s-someone saved him for a ch-change..."

Prim nodded her head and took Haymitch's hand in hers. It was sticky and wet with warm blood, but she gripped as tight as she could. He had to know he was not alone. He was loved by many.

"I—" Prim broke off as the expression of Haymitch's face began to soften. All the lines began to smooth out—a youthful expression of peace she had never seen slid across his normally hardened face—and slowly the life faded from his eyes. His hand fell limp from Prim's and she bit back a sob. Another Hunger Games victor was dead.

Standing to her feet Prim looked down on the still body of her former mentor and promised. "I will. We all will. "

Giving one last glance around the room Prim looked for anything she might need to take, to prove her story, but there was nothing, save for Haymitch's body. She would have to bring someone here, but who was in charge now? Who could fix this? Before she could come to a conclusion there was a gasp behind her.

"Oh!"

Prim swung around to find Heavensbee's assistant standing in the doorway, pink eyebrows high on her forehead with shock. It was the same one she saw walking with him to the hovercraft. The one with the silver tattoos on her cheeks.

"You have to help me!" Prim rushed forward, hoping to explain. Maybe she could help. Maybe she was the solution. "Heavensbee's a monster! He murdered Haymitch!"

The look of shock slowly dissolved from the assistants face. Her eyes darkened and her hand flicked out to swing the door shut behind her. Prim swallowed the rest of her pleas. Her insides grew cold.

"I don't know how you got down here, but you know too much."

The woman reached into the pocket of her jacket. Prim knew what she was going to pull from it before she saw it and so she threw all caution to the wind. The lady was as bad as Heavensbee. If she couldn't get justice from him, she would extricate it from this woman. Unleashing a piercing scream Prim charged down the assistant. She just barely got the gun out of the confines of her jacked before Prim slammed into her, knocking her back against the door. Prim reached for the wrist holding the gun, smashing it back against the wall. The woman's hand seized and the gun fell free, clattering across the floor. The woman cried out in pain. She used her free hand to claw at Prim's hair. She caught a handful and knotted it in her fist, her long glittering nails cutting into Prim's scalp, before yanking backward.

"AH!" A piercing fire lit up along her scalp as she was jerked back. Prim twisted against the grip and managed to sink her teeth into the flesh of the woman's arm. She howled in pain and Prim's hair was released. Prim quickly scanned the floor for the gun. It now rested by Haymitch's feet in his dark pool of blood. She ran for it.

"You little bitch!" The assistant cried and lunged at Prim. Her hands knocked into Prim's back just as she went for the gun. Prim flew forward, her feet tangling with Haymitch's and tripping her. She fell hard to the floor and the woman—unable to stop her forward motion—barreled over Prim, smashing into the brooms, which went scattering across the floor. Prim's torso was damp with Haymitch's blood. She twisted her body—practically gliding with the blood slicked floor—and grasped for the gun. But the assistant jumped on her back, forcing the air from her lungs, and tore her hand back before it could clasp the handgun.

"Some stupid girl like you from Twelve wont ruin all of our carefully laid plans!" The assistant hissed in Prim's ear. "Heavensbee will get all he deserves and more."

The woman was mad Prim realized. Enthralled by her boss and warped by his logic. The woman took another fistful of Prim's hair and yanked her head up only to smash it back against the floor. White spots burst before her vision and her head exploded with pain.

The woman, satisfied Prim was dazed, chuckled and reached for the gun. Prim's eyes spun around the room frantically. This couldn't be how it ended. Haymitch, Peeta, they deserved so much better. Then her eyes locked on a broken piece of broom handle made to a jagged point. Her vision continued to spin precariously and her head throbbed. Her left hand twitched at her side. The woman had the gun. She heard the safety click off, but the woman's weight had shifted when she moved for the gun. Prim threw herself up and her head back, smashing into the woman's chin. She howled in pain. At the same time Prim's left hand swung out and snatched the jagged piece of broom handle. She turned and with an animalistic cry that wrenched itself from the depths of Prim's throat—pushed out along with it all her rage and fear and desperation until she was emptied—she thrust the point of the stick into the woman's neck. It sunk into her skin as easily as if she were cutting into butter. The woman couldn't even scream. Blood bubbled from her mouth as her eyes widened in horror and her hands flailed uselessly about her body. Prim pushed the woman off and away from her before clambering backwards on her hands and legs. The woman groped at the piece of wood in her neck and tore it out. Blood fountained from her neck and then she collapsed in a heap next to Haymitch, stone cold dead.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for the delay to posting this here. It's been up on ff.net for a long while. I've been on a long hiatus after this final chapter so it just slipped my mind after posting it there to put it up here. But anyways here it is, the end. I hope to have some new stories coming your way in a bit so keep an eye out.

Chapter 26- The Real Enemy Part 2

 

“…Things are ramping up now. Like a runaway train I’m not sure there’s any stopping it now. Every able bodied man and woman and teen is being recruited into this thing now—are you listening to me Ryves?”

 

Lyme snapped her fingers in Cato’s face. He slowly blinked and like the dialing of a lens she came back into focus on the chair before him. Lyme had dropped by unannounced—she had been doing that a lot lately, saying it was to check up on him, but Cato knew better, she was worried he would do something drastic—and launched into some spiel about how fast everything had escalated since Coin was assassinated. Since Peeta—Cato quickly banished the thought from his mind, instead focusing on to the aftermath.

 

When they had detained him. Isolated him. Interrogated him. Threatened him. But there was nothing left to threaten. They thought he was in on it. That after all this time he would defect to the same bastards that torched his family, murdered his sister. No, Cato would never do that. He was in this now. He had blood on his hands, the death of hundreds, and there was no turning back.

 

“Who cares?” Cato grunted.

 

He rose from the bed and swung his legs over the edge. The slap of his bare feet against the cold tile loudly bounced through the small room. He focused on the gray plaster wall opposite him. He had taken to staring at the banal wall a lot recently. It helped him empty his mind, otherwise the anger boiled uninhibited just beneath the surface of his skin like a disease working to turn his blood black and cold, his mind savage.

 

Lyme remained persistently seated in the chair next to his bed. “Who cares?” She scoffed. The chair squeaked as she scooted closer to Cato, her back straightening and making her look wider, more intimidating. It had no effect on Cato. Nothing did. “ _You_ should! The final stand happens _tonight_. The war could go one of two ways for our cause, but either way I fear there will be insurmountable losses for everyone. And what are you doing about it? Just sitting here and moping like some entitled, angst riddled Capitol brat? If Peeta were here he’d be ashamed.”

 

“But he’s NOT!” Cato suddenly roared, standing to his feet and towering over Lyme. His body visibly vibrated as the resentment inside him boiled over. “He’s a traitor—a killer! He abandoned us!” He left unsaid the part where Peeta abandoned him. “I don’t give two shits what he would think. It’s time for you to go. As you said, war is coming and I need to prepare.”

 

Standing to her feet Lyme equaled Cato’s height and her hard eyes bore into Cato’s casting harsh judgment. But he remained defiant and stared past her head at the gray wall. She sniffed back a deep breath and then released it through her teeth before marching out, the slam of the door closing behind her breaking Cato from his trance. Instead of preparing though he just fell back onto his bed, eyes drifting to their usual spot on the ceiling: a crack in the cement that had appeared after the bombing. He kept waiting for it to grow wider, longer, eventually buckling from the weight above and caving in on him. It never did.

 

Before he could find his way back to his previous state of catatonic depression the door flew open. Growling Cato rose back up, obscenities on the tip of his tongue ready to be unleashed on Lyme telling her just exactly what he thought of her pestering. The plan died on his tongue in a shocked intake of breath at the sight of the bloodied and bruised girl that had just burst into his room.

 

“Prim? What the—“

 

Cato’s voice broke the spell that had them both frozen in place and Prim collapsed to the floor in sobs. Jumping from bed Cato crossed the room, closed the door and took Prim in his arms. Her whole body convulsed as she was consumed by an unknown grief so powerful it might swallow her whole. It disturbed Cato his first reaction was to cringe away from the emotional display. But he fought that urge and continued to hold her on the floor.

 

“Prim, Prim, talk to me. Shh, shh. C’mon. What happened?” Cato pulled back to look down at her cradled in his arms. The blood coating her chest had transferred to Cato and he breathed a sigh of relief as he realized the blood wasn’t hers. Actually there were no visible wounds at all.

 

While Cato did not know what happened, he knew it was something bad. He had not seen Prim after Coin’s assassination. It was chaos and he was too numb, too self-centered to have thought of her after it. Her cursed the new selfish streak he had developed—or if he was being honest, reawakened.

 

“Did anyone see you come here? Prim, I need you to answer me.”

 

Finally, Prim took in a shaky breath and then turned her wide olive eyes up on Cato.

 

“Peeta’s not a traitor. He didn’t kill Haymitch. He—He—“

 

“—What are you saying? Of course he is. I saw the tape, he killed Haymitch. There is no doubt.”

 

Cato shook his head vigorously, disentangling himself from Prim and pushing back from her. They remained seated on the floor, smears of red violently breaking the monotony of gray in the room. He shook his head hoping they were just visions. They remained. All he saw was red anymore.

 

“Haymitch isn’t dead. Well—“ Prim hiccupped. “He is now…” She shook her head then winced, bringing a hand to the back of her scalp. Then she leveled her eyes on his, pleading and aware how crazy she must sound. Cato could not believe it. He had lost hope long ago.

 

“You’re in shock. Tell me what happened? Are you safe?”

 

“I don’t know! But you have to believe me. I saw him! Haymitch.” Prim threw herself forward and clutched at Cato’s forearms, desperate. Her eyes were wild and red from crying. “I followed Heavensbee into the hovercraft. Why? An impulse, I don’t know. But—but I saw him. He had Haymitch stashed away in some supply room. He’d been there for days. They were talking about Peeta. Haymitch was angry with Heavensbee. He wasn’t holding up his end of some deal—“

 

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Cato interrupted. He pulled away from Prim and stood, pacing. It was impossible. Something had happened to her. She hit her head. “You need to see a doctor—“

 

“You’re not listening to me!” Prim screeched. She stood to her feet and pointed an accusing finger at Cato. “I know Peeta hurt you, but he’d never, _ever_ , betray us. I know that and you know that no matter how hard you try to deny it. Heavensbee shot and killed Haymitch to keep this secret. I don’t know why, but Haymitch told me we have to save Peeta. No one else knows. He’s all on his own. You know what I’m saying is true, just think about it. Why would Peeta do this? Why would he betray the rebellion? Why pretend to kill Haymitch?”

 

It was not true. _Peeta betrayed me! He cheated our love and then abandoned our cause for the enemy! He lost his mind in those games. Just another broken victor._ He tried fervently to deny it. He fought it with all the anger that had been festering inside of him. But the truth was stronger. It bulldozed through all his concocted scenarios like they were tissue paper and the realization hit Cato like a sledgehammer to the gut. He felt hot all over and overcome with a dizzying wave of nausea.

 

“To gain the Capitol’s trust. He went to kill Snow…” Cato paused and swallowed reflexively. He finally stopped pacing and looked down at Prim. “He’s sacrificing himself.”

 

Before Cato had time to process it all, before Prim could even get out a response, there was a loud sound of static air that burst into the room, followed by three sequential beeps. Then a voice came on over the speaker system.

 

“This is Plutarch Heavensbee, your new interim President for Thirteen and the Rebel Alliance of Districts.”

 

Prim gasped in outrage, “He cant!” But Cato waved at her to hush as he craned his head to listen. It was beginning to make sense now.

 

“I have not taken this new position lightly and I am deeply saddened to have ascended to this rank under such grave circumstances. But the chain of leadership must not be broken. We are at war. A war we can and must win. Despite the setbacks we have weathered the past few weeks my resolution is absolute. I will do everything in my power and more to assure us a true victory. Our oppressors will know true justice. And so I promise to commence immediately with Alma Coin’s plan of attack on the Capitol tonight. This war _will_ end. We mustn’t wait another day. Forces conspire against us at every turn and the longer we wait, the more time we give the enemy to turn and use our greatest weapon and—“ Heavensbee breaks, showily clearing his throat. “—And biggest disappointment against us. I ask that you please find the nearest monitor. The video I am about to play is—was classified. President Coin saw fit to keep the truth from you. In the end that allowed Capitol spies in to our midst, enemies into our beds. But I will not keep things from you any longer. You deserve to know the truth. To know exactly what we are fighting against. To know the true enemy.”

 

A deep sense of dread leached into every pore of Cato’s being. All up and down the hallways of the dormitory Cato could hear doors opening as people gathered at the monitors that dropped from the ceiling. Cato and Prim cautiously exited his room and joined the nearest crowd. He knew what was about to be played before the television light to life. It was the surveillance video of Peeta strangling Haymitch. Prim groaned in misery and fell into Cato’s side. All around them he heard the telltale signs of the birth of an angry mob, just like when Dreg had rallied the citizens of Two against him in the town square. People shouted in disgust. Cried out terrible epithets at Peeta and the Capitol, feeding each other’s unruly emotions. Heavensbee came back on the intercom just in time to soothe their raw emotions, a perfectly timed emotional balm. He was a true politician.

 

“I know. I know how you all must be feeling. Because I am feeling it too. He was our Mockingjay. Our hope. He breathed new life into our weary bones and re-ignited our fire for justice and liberty from those that oppressed us for too long. And now he has betrayed those very same values for greed and power that Coin would not give him. He had her assassinated and now he sits in the lap of luxury with President Snow and plots against us, ready to feed him our secrets and weaknesses. But we will not give him the chance! For we are coming and they will know our true wrath. The rebellion _will_ win and we _will_ have our justice!”

 

The crowds gathered around the interspersed monitors in the hallways were whipped to frenzy by Heavensbee’s words. The boy on fire betrayed them and now they wanted blood. They whooped and hollered, beat their chests and donned their war gear. It was time for battle. Cato realized it was the perfect ploy. Heavensbee had everyone exactly where he wanted them. Everyone was now blindly allegiant to him and ready to rush into battle, their fears of assassins and deep mistrust long forgotten with the fresh scent of a new enemy to distract them.

 

“Cato. Prim…” Finnick stood before them as the riled crowd thinned around them, everyone marching to the loading bay above where they would be sent into battle. Finnick was dressed in military gear with his signature trident in one hand and a rifle slung over his back. His sea green eyes took in Prim’s bloodied nature in alarm.

 

“Yeah?” Cato prompted.

 

“What happened? My god Prim you’re—“

 

“—It’s not important. What’s up?”

 

Finnick cleared his throat, unsure how to proceed with Prim’s state and Cato’s seeming lack of care towards it. “We are to report to the hovercraft immediately. You and I along with Gale and Johanna are to be part of an elite crew lead by Lyme. We will be air dropped into the heart of the city when the battle starts. He thinks us leading the charge will be good symbolically. Help bolster the soldiers faith in the rebellion.”

 

“Doesn’t seem like he needs much help,” Cato noted as a man charged by them, gun held above his head and a brash war cry expelled from his lips.

 

“Yeah…” Finnick took in the madness around them—the fervent eyes and wildly jeering limbs—then looked at Prim and her blood stained clothes again. “Something is wrong. I can feel it. He’s also ordered me to have Prim report to the hovercraft with us. She is to be our ground medic. This is insanity. Why is he doing this?”

 

A small hand slipped into Cato’s and his chest seized. He knew exactly what Heavensbee was doing. He was tying up all the loose ends, clearing out all final possible obstacles to his power. He was sending the remaining Victors and anyone sympathetic to Peeta, like Gale and Prim, into the heart of the battle to die. His throat constricted and his head spun as he stood in the hallway, war prepping all around him and Prim’s delicate hand clenched in his. It was too much. He wasn’t a thinker like Peeta. He was a blunt tool to be wielded. What could he do?

 

“You have to save him.” Primrose whispered, her hand twitching in his large palm.

 

“Save who?” Finnick asked in confusion.

 

Cato cringed and looked up to the ceiling, his default setting. He felt the shirt he wore sticking to the sweat that pooled on his lower back and he plucked at it.

 

“Cato?” Prim pulled his hand from hers and touched his shoulder. He finally leveled his brown eyes on her.

 

“I’m no hero.”

 

* * *

 

 

_You have one hour. If she is not dead when I return, you both shall die at the hands of Dreg. I can tell you he is hopeful for your failure. Do not fail me Peeta._

 

President Snow’s final words played over in Peeta’s mind as Cassadine latched herself tight to Peeta’s midsection, her head buried in his stomach. She sniffled lightly, but remained surprisingly in control of her emotions.

 

“How long have you been here?” Peeta asked.

 

His voice cracked from disuse. He’d been playing unaffected so long it was a difficult adjustment letting his emotions return. The dam did not break immediately and let them come flooding back. It had become his only source of consolation during his exile here in the Capitol. If he had no emotions he would not be forced to think of what the others thought of him back in Thirteen. He could do what needed to be done no matter the cost.

 

His mission was to kill President Snow, regardless of how it ended for him. Yet they still had not let him close enough to Snow to do it and his time might very well be up. And now everything was bungled because Snow was still suspicious. The mission compromised because now he was forced to think of another. Cassy.

 

“I—I don’t know.” She pulled her head back and looked up at him with her shocking green eyes, the left one filled with blood from a burst blood vessel. “They had me in some dungeon. It was horrible. I can still smell it…” She shivered. “Peeta I’ve been in the dark so long!” Cassy cried out and buried her face back in his stomach. Peeta was only then reminded just how young she was. Eleven. Her parents were most definitely dead. The only reason she was kept alive was on Snow’s orders. Peeta understood how Snow thought well enough now to know he kept her as collateral for a rainy day, something to be levied against Cato at the most opportune time. Now she was being used to test Peeta’s true commitment to the Capitol. To make sure all his ties to his old life were truly severed. They still thought he was theirs—that while there had been a malfunction, it was still working somehow. But they were wrong.

 

* * *

 

 

Roughly three weeks ago…

 

A name called him from the void. It was near impossible to gather the energy to respond. He was trapped in a thick gelatinous sludge, suspended in the ether between reality and subconscious. It held him restrained. Every limb, every muscle fought against the suction of the void, but it gave only slightly. Then suddenly he snapped awake.

 

Bright white lights blared down on Peeta from the ceiling. It was blinding and unfamiliar. He screamed. The last thing he remembered was fire, so much fire raining down from the sky. He was dead. That was the only explanation.

 

“Calm boy, calm…” A voice spoke to Peeta’s left. It tried for soothing, but its unfamiliarity only heightened his sense of anxiety. There was a harsh frantic beeping to his right. Peeta tried to sit up, but his arms gave out before he could put any weight on them to push. There was a dull throb that pulsed throughout the entirety of his body, just a whisper of the true pain he was really feeling. The sterile smell of bleach and antiseptic breached his nose and burned their way up his nostrils like napalm.

 

“It’s the drugs. The disorientation will fade soon. If there’s a problem you call me back in here immediately.”

 

“Yes, yes. Thank you. And remember, talk to no one.”

 

There was a vibration at Peeta’s back and he moved upright with out trying. The room finally came into view around him as he rose and along with it the face of someone Peeta never thought he would see again. It filled him with terrible dread. If he were not dead he would be soon. The paced beeping increased.

 

“Peeta, please calm down. You are quite safe. Everyone, miraculously, is safe.”

 

Shifting his eyes about the room Peeta tried to absorb all the new information. He was in some type of medical facility. He figured it was the Capitol’s, although why they would try to keep him alive after trying to kill them all made no sense to him. The beeping came from a heart monitor to his right. Plutarch was on his left and he looked tired with deep dark bags under his eyes.

 

If his mind weren’t so groggy, if his head didn’t feel like it was packed full of cotton, then maybe he would have freaked out more. But he really, truly was tired. And by the amount of drugs coursing through his body—enough to make his limbs feel weightless and detached from the rest of his body—he couldn’t find it in him to care. So he cleared his throat and tried to speak, but found he had no voice. Plutarch reached for a glass of water with a straw, which Peeta greedily sucked down.

 

“The—the others. Where—“

 

“As I said before, everyone is fine. They all made it here alive.”

 

Slowly it all came back to him. The battle. The mutts. Gale. The lightning tree. The destruction of the force field. Beetee…

 

“So I’m not in the Capitol then?”’

 

“Oh no my boy, not at all.” Plutarch huffed a laugh and Peeta wished he knew what was so funny.

 

“We are in district Thirteen.”

 

It did not make sense and yet it did. As Plutarch wove an intricate tale of how he worked with a group of defectors from inside the Capitol for years to overthrow the Capitol. How they rigged the Quarter Quell for escape. How he fed Peeta the answer to the layout of the Arena at the Victory Ball. How he stole a hovercraft and did battle against the Capitol when they dropped bombs on everyone in the Arena. He saved them all and whisked them off to district Thirteen, which was now openly leading the rebellion against the Capitol. It was insane. It was more than they could have hoped for.

 

“There’s more…” Plutarch’s face was grave, though he quickly rearranged it before gesturing to a door. Peeta didn’t know if he could handle more. “But first the President of Thirteen would like to meet you. I’m afraid I can postpone it no more.”

 

A woman with striking gray hair that fell in thick sheets to her shoulders marched into the room. A gun was visibly holstered to her belt and she held herself in a rigid posture of unwavering importance. She extended a hand for Peeta to shake. He just stared at it. He knew he should shake it. It was the proper etiquette, but he just couldn’t, not at the moment. Clarity was only just returning to his mind and it was hard enough not to panic with the flood of new information. Thirteen _was_ real. Those girls running from District Eight had been right! They had to be the mysterious group backing Gale as he led a rebellion in Twelve. And then there was Plutarch… it finally made sense why he spoke those cryptic words to Peeta at the Ball.

 

“I’m sorry Alma—President Coin. It’s the drugs, he’s still a little disoriented.” Plutarch offered apologetically. She nodded tersely.

 

“Well Mr. Mellark. We are very fortunate to have rescued you along with the other tributes. I extended my warmest of welcomes to District Thirteen.” She offered a small smile. It was anything but warm. Her eyes were a cold grey and he wondered when the last time was she had held a warm demeanor towards anyone or thing. She continued before he could respond. “I have a few questions.”

 

“O-okay.” Peeta croaked.

 

“Is it true you are no longer affianced to the victor from Two, Mr. Ryves?”

 

Like pouring salt on an open wound, Peeta cringed internally and bit the side of his cheek. That was something he hadn’t touched on yet as his mind returned to him and it lashed at his insides all over again like new.

 

“Um… yea—yes.” He would rather not talk about this with her. Even if she was the President it was none of her business.

 

Coin’s jaw worked from side-to-side before she spoke, her grey eyes holding his gaze unflinchingly.

 

“Well that’s a problem.” The tenor of her voice indicated it was more so than that.

 

“I don’t see how it’s yours.” Peeta snapped before thinking. Her eyes narrowed a fraction.

 

“It is my problem and everyone’s here. As I’m sure you’ve been fully aware since the end of the 74th Hunger Games, your romance with Mr. Ryves was— _is_ part of this movement. You will do something about it.”

 

Galled, Peeta stared at her with his mouth open before words came to him.

 

“I’m sorry, but as I said before this is my business and mine alone. I know how everyone likes to weave our story to best fit their needs, but it is his and mine alone. Our romance is not a pawn in your game and—and—and I wont—“ Peeta was so worked up he was overcome by a chest rattling cough that inhibited further ranting.

 

Thankfully Plutarch did something right for a change and intervened on Peeta’s behalf. “If you would, President, maybe you could continue this conversation at another time. He has only just woken from a very traumatic experience.”

 

“Fine.” She bit out before composing herself and brushing the hair from her shoulders. “We will talk of this another time. Do rest, Mr. Mellark. Anything you may need, just ask from the medic on duty and they will oblige.”

 

“As for you,” President Coin turned and leveled a critical stare with her cold grey eyes on Plutarch. “Come see me in my office when done here. We will be having a talk about proper protocol in District Thirteen. You may be used to doing things a different way in the Capitol, but here you cannot just do as you please.”

 

Peeta watched the interaction and was confused by what she was saying. Protocol? What had Plutarch done that angered her? She seemed easily riled judging by their first encounter.

 

“I’m sorry. I was only trying to save his life.”

 

“And for that we are grateful. I’ll pass along to Haymitch he may come in.”

 

“Oh, yes, if you would though, please tell him to wait just outside the door for a moment?”

 

President Coin studied him for a second with tightly pursed lips and Peeta was sure she would say no, but she jerked her head in what Peeta assumed was a nod and then left.

 

“I want to see the others. Why can’t Haymitch come in yet?” Peeta demanded of Plutarch. He didn’t like this. Why was he separated from everyone else? There was something more going on and he would not wait any longer to find out. “What aren’t you telling me?”

 

Stepping up to the side of Peeta’s bed again, Plutarch gripped the railing with his thick fingers and released a heavy sigh.

 

“Plutarch!”

 

“Yes, yes. Sorry. You have to understand, Peeta. I needed to do what was best for you. For all of us. There is something you don’t know, couldn’t know. But I think it will explain a lot of things for you. Questions I’m sure you’ve been having for a while now.”

 

The vague rambling was getting old. Peeta wanted answers already. What did he know that Peeta was surely questioning.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“You remember at the end of the last games, when your heart stopped and you almost died? The doctors said your heartbeat was too slow, irregular after your heart attack. I’m unsure of the exact terminology, but whatever it was required you have a pacemaker installed.”

 

“Yes, I remember all this Plutarch.” Peeta said, irritated. Of course he knew all that. How could he ever forget the time he almost died from eating nightlock only to be saved by his heart giving out?

 

“Well you never needed one.”

 

Peeta had to have misheard him.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“It is a lie.” Plutarch said and rested a hand tentatively on Peeta’s shoulder before taking it back when Peeta stared at it. His mind was blank. He didn’t know what to process at the moment so he didn’t.

 

“You’ve never had a pacemaker.”

 

“But—but I had check-ups! My heart failed, I was weakened by the games!” Peeta grew upset. The pressure rose in his head as the dread built. He felt on the verge of exploding. The heart monitor’s pace ticked up as his anxiety grew.

 

_What did they do to him?_

 

“The Capitol doctors sold this lie to you so you wouldn’t question the check-ups. But in reality they implanted a behavioral modification chip in your central nervous system near your heart. It’s all too technical for me, but I knew of it because I am—was the head Gamemaker. It was my job to know everything about the Games and Victors.”

 

The room spun before Peeta’s eyes. He was going to be sick. He felt violated. He threw his head back against the bed. Once. Twice. Three times. His hands thrashed at the wires tangled with his chest and arms. He kicked out with his legs at the gate at the end of his bed. Only one connected. That’s when he realized the other thing that was off. He had no left leg. He was missing his leg!

 

“AHHHH!”

 

A scream ripped from deep in Peeta’s chest and was released upon the room in a violent burst. It clawed out from the deepest depths of his body like an untamed beast that had taken residence inside him and was not released willingly. It tore at his throat and his head heated with the exertion and rush of blood until he felt like it might just pop. His vision wavered and black spots burst before his eyes. Plutarch jumped back from the bed. A scared expression of dismay perched on his round face.

 

“Peeta, please, listen to me.” He begged over Peeta’s raging screams, waving his hands for him to calm down. Heavensbee tried to touch Peeta’s shoulder again but he jerked from it and unleashed another scream.

 

“It—it’s been deactivated and removed! I brought a trusted doctor with me from the Capitol,” Plutarch rushed to get out. “That’s why I wouldn’t let anyone in here. No one can know about this. Peeta I beg you to here me out!”

 

It was beyond hard. Peeta just wanted to lose himself in the rage. There he was safe. Safe from all the other emotions, safe from the reality of what had been done to him, safe from facing the ruin of his life. But he had never been safe, never would. Not until this was over. And so he pulled himself together. He ignored the fact that he was missing a leg. He ignored the throbbing soreness that pulsed through his body in electric waves, tormenting every muscle, every bone with its biting sting. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath imagining the things he cared for most: painting, Prim, his father, Cato, Gale—the beep of the heart monitor finally began to slow. Then he opened his eyes and locked them with Plutarch.

 

“Tell me everything.”

 

Plutarch swallowed and stepped forward.

 

“After what happened in the Arena with you and Cato they knew you could be trouble. Snow and his advisors wanted the chip installed as a fail safe against your more insubordinate leanings.”

 

“And—“ Peeta stalled and took in another deep breath. The feeling of violation went so deep he wasn’t sure he could speak with out throwing up. “And what did this chip do exactly?”

 

“It acts like a mind control device, but its much more simple than that. It has two settings: spy mode, which is the default setting and always on when activated, and then kill mode.”

 

Peeta’s mouth dried. He tried to swallow, but couldn’t. He reached for the water Plutarch had set beside his bed, but his arm refused to move again. He had exerted all his energy.

 

“The chip was activated the night the Quarter Quell was announced,” Plutarch continued. He spoke evenly now, no longer worried of an outburst by Peeta and clearly hoping to get it out quick like ripping off a bandage. “You probably wouldn’t have noticed, but after that date you were an unwitting spy for the Capitol. You gave weekly reports unbeknownst to you.”

 

But Peeta did notice it. He knew exactly when it was activated. He thought it was a reaction to Gale’s embrace. It was when he began to question his feelings towards Gale and Cato. But in reality it had been the Capitol turning him against his people. He felt sick again. Plutarch took a hesitant step back, noticing.

 

“Do you need something, you look sick?”

 

“Of course I do. I just learned I’ve betrayed my loved ones, my district, my values!” Peeta snapped.

 

“But it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. When you reported your weekly intelligence gathering to Romulus you would black out. They made sure you would never suspect a thing…”

 

The sound of his voice faded from Peeta’s mind as everything began to click into place. How crazy he had been feeling in Twelve, like something was off with him but he couldn’t quite place it. Why he kept losing time and was unable to remember what he had been doing.

 

_Oh god,_ Peeta realized with a dawning horror, _Bonnie and Twill._ He was the reason they were dead. He turned them over to Romulus! They were captured and hung because Peeta gave them up. His stomach churned violently. Peeta wondered if he could he ever trust his instincts again? There was no way to unlearn this truth, even if it did exonerate him of Beetee’s death. But then did it? If his mind had been stronger, his will tougher than the chip maybe he could have prevented it.

 

Plutarch had continued on despite Peeta’s lack of attention, speaking of a trigger for him to black out when actively rebelling against the Capitol. Which explained why Peeta fell unconscious when talking to Haymitch about starting a rebellion. The Capitol had not only made him their spy but an obedient lap dog. Except one thing didn’t make sense.

 

“If it came with a kill mode why didn’t they just activate that and have me kill a bunch of people? It would have ruined my image as the Mockingjay and stalled the rebellion. Everyone would have turned against me.”

 

“Because the Capitol wanted to see if District Thirteen would try to get to you. You aren’t the only threat to them or the biggest. They figured—and rightly so—if you got here, you’d have access to all their leaders. Then they could have you destroy their biggest threat from the inside.”

 

“And in the Quarter Quell…” Peeta paused and thought back on everything that had happened to him in there. How he thought he was losing his mind. The sudden urge to kill Finnick, murdering Beetee. Maybe he still was crazy. Who knew the long-term effects of that device? “When I ran into the force field it did something to the chip, didn’t it?”

 

“Yes, the doctor examined it after removing it. His best explanation is the mainframe was fried and malfunctioned, switching the kill mode on and off at random. It makes you think your allies are muttations, threats to your life. It’s almost like you act in self defense.”

 

“It didn’t feel like that.” Peeta whispered, the memory of Beetee’s death fresh in his mind. His eyes suddenly burned and so he clenched them shut. He would not cry for what the Capitol did to him. He _wouldn’t_.

 

“So why couldn’t the others know? Why keep them from me? I mean you said he took it out, I’m no longer a threat to anyone.”

 

Plutarch shifted his weight from one foot to the other anxiously. “You have to understand Peeta. This war has turned ugly fast. You know the stories of how destructive the first rebellion was and that lasted years. This one has only run the course of a few months, starting back with Eights rebellion during the Victory Tour and already its become just as destructive, if not more. Both sides have little patience left in diplomacy or moral decency when it comes to war.”

 

What more could he take? Plutarch continued to paint a horrible picture of the current state of the war. It was one bombshell after another since Peeta awoke in that hospital bed. His left leg amputated, the pacemaker actually some kind of mind control device. And now he came to learn that District Twelve was annihilated. Blown off the map in immediate retribution for his defiance in the Arena. Eight was in ruins also. All remaining victors of the Hunger Games were assassinated save for those in Thirteen.

 

“We’ll destroy each other before this is over. You know this.” Plutarch emphasized each word to land maximum impact. “Thirteen wants blood for the decimation of their way of life. The Capitol wants to eradicate any and all rebellious leanings.”

 

“Why are you telling me this?” Peeta whimpered. He was spent. He just wanted to up the drug dosage and sleep the war away. But the time for inaction had passed long ago. Maybe now that he knew the truth and the chip was out of him he could truly be the Mockingjay. Maybe that was what Plutarch was building to with all of this.

 

“Because Peeta…” He paused and for the first time Peeta saw real fire behind his eyes, a thirst for something more. Peeta read it as a thirst for an end to the violence.

 

“For the good of everyone, _this must end_. No matter the cost to us.”

 

“How?”

 

The question was only to provoke the answer Plutarch had been building to all this time, but Peeta had already reached that conclusion. He would use the Capitol’s attempt to brainwash him against them.

 

“You pretend the chip is still implanted in you. That it is still working, although it has malfunctioned. That will be the cover to get you close enough to him, to—“

 

“—Snow.” Peeta finished for him. “To kill President Snow.”

 

A haughty smile spread across the puffy cheeks of Plutarch’s face, making him look like some oddly bearded and impious cherub. “Exactly.”

 

“The Capitol knows the force field made the chip malfunction. You can pretend its still controlling you to kill, that it’s kept you loyal to the Capitol. They wont kill you; you’re too useful to them alive if truly turned. Snow will want to parade you before the rebellion. Get close to him, kill him and this all ends.” Plutarch began to pace around the bed and Peeta gave up trying to follow him with his eyes, instead he rested his head back on the small pillow, closed his eyes and listened while images of Snow’s blood on his hands danced across his eyelids. It was disturbingly satisfying. “We are planning a full scale invasion of the Capitol in a few weeks time, once District Two falls. The Capitol forces will crumble quickly once their leader has been dispatched of and then we can rescue you.”

 

There was a long moment of silence. Peeta could here Plutarch’s heavy breathing at the foot of his bed and knew he must be deliberating on whether Peeta had fallen asleep and heard anything he said. But Peeta let his mind rest a little longer before giving himself over fully to the plan. He knew rescue was along shot. Plutarch did too, he was only trying to placate his fears with what he though Peeta wanted to hear. This was a one-way trip, a suicide mission, and Peeta was okay with that. What left did he have to lose? He had all the more to gain. An end to the war, safety and a brighter future for those he loved.

 

_I chose this path the moment I volunteered in Riece’s places,_ Peeta knew in his heart. There was no more denying his purpose. It was the only way to make up for all the blood he had spilt.

 

“There’s just one flaw,” Peeta spoke suddenly, eyes slipping open and landing solidly on Plutarch’s. “Snow, his advisors, they’ll never accept my story or even let me close enough to him with out proof. The rebellion needs to be convinced I’ve turned on them too for this con to be believed.”

 

“What kind of proof?”

 

“I’ll have to kill someone.” Peeta spoke as if it was the most normal thing to say.

 

“I think I know just the person,” Plutarch said as he walked towards the door and opened it.

 

At first he wouldn’t listen to any of it. Haymitch had to be assured Peeta was fine now, of sound mind and making this decision of his own free will before he would even contemplate their plan. It was fairly simple. Peeta would continue the charade of a man damaged by war and the events of the Quarter Quell, building credence to his eventual defection. Plutarch would work on readying an escape for Peeta after he ‘killed’ Haymitch. Peeta would ride the stolen hovercraft bike to the near District Nine where he would make himself known to Capitol forces. They would do the rest. Haymitch just had to play antagonistic to Peeta. Plutarch would make sure his doctor was the one to declare Haymitch dead. All they had to do was wait for the signal that Peeta’s escape was ready. Plutarch would spill a cup of coffee and his assistant Flavius would mop it up with her gold handkerchief. Then Peeta would commit the crime against Haymitch in full view of security cameras.

 

Haymitch hated it, but he acquiesced when it became clear to him by Peeta’s look of finality. He was exhausted, drained by it all and unwilling to fight about it. The decision was made. The bloodshed had to end. Peeta would see to that. Plutarch finally left him be as a medic administered a new dose of morphling.

 

“It was all leading somewhere,” Peeta muttered to Haymitch as the new dose of drugs began to crash over him like the dark salty water of the Arena where he lost his mind and part of his soul with the murder of Beetee. “I just never knew what until now…”

 

_The Mockingjay will give everything for the people. The boy on fire will let his flames consume him, along with his enemies and the people of Panem will be born anew._

 

There was a rough brush of whiskers across his forehead as Haymitch did something completely uncharacteristic. He kissed Peeta on the forehead. A single drop of wetness spilled on Peeta’s bruised cheek. Before he pulled back and before the wave of drugs dragged Peeta under he heard Haymitch’s final words to him as if spoken through a tunnel.

 

“All I ever wanted was to keep you safe. I’m sorry.”

 

There were so many things he wanted to say. Don’t be. It’s not your responsibility. He made this choice and he alone. That he was doing this for Haymitch too. That he trusted him with his life and hoped Haymitch would give him that same honor. Instead he slipped into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

 

Now…

 

All the soldiers and war equipment had been loaded on the stolen trains and hurtled toward the Capitol at breakneck speed while the hovercraft followed from above. Per Boggs over the intercom they were less than an hour out now. Soon everyone would be thrust into battle. Win or lose, there was no coming back from this. Cato knew that. It was time for him to make his choice. He felt the darkness inside him. It rotted him from the inside out. He had so much anger. It eclipsed all his other emotions, fed him, drove him, and pushed him further along the path of despair. Cato was not sure he could be saved from it. There might be no use.

 

Heard from behind Cato were Prim’s sharply paced breaths. He didn’t have to see her to know she was frightened. What thirteen year old wouldn’t be at the prospect of dropping in on a war?

 

“It’s just like going back to the Quarter Quell…” Prim moaned.

 

“Except this time we have an army on our side and more than just one of us gets to come back so buck up.” Johanna ordered. Cato heard the soft thump of her hand slapping Prim’s back.

 

“You’re right,” Prim responded unwaveringly. Cato looked over his shoulder to see her straighten to her full height, throwing her shoulders back and glaring dead ahead. Cato followed her line of sight straight to Plutarch Heavensbee.

 

The elite team of victors—the Gold Team as Boggs had designated them— gathered on the upper deck of the hovercraft with Plutarch Heavensbee and the flight crew. His two male assistants flanked him on either side, but Cato noticed his most loyal one, Flavius, was missing. Lyme checked everyone’s guns one last time. There was another team to be dropped in with them: The Titanium Team. All men and women from District Thirteen. The very best of their class, trained with sniper rifles, explosives, and close range combat. Cato knew those were the real ones intended to infiltrate the heart of the city, to find and most likely kill Peeta (and maybe even them). They had superfluous silver ribbons adorned to their chest next to the D13 badge. Something they must have done for unit cohesion.

 

A crew of men with bug-like contraptions Cato knew to be cameras from all his experience stepped onto the flight deck. They set up near Heavensbee. Then Boggs came in with two soldiers and a prisoner in cuffs—the very same young man that assassinated President Coin.

 

Lyme was busy fiddling with some cube device in the lead of them now. Cato positioned himself to her left. They hadn’t spoken to each other since a strained greeting when they boarded the hovercraft. Behind them in two single file lines stood Finnick, Gale, Johanna, and Prim. No one spoke now as they watched the scene unfold before them. Plutarch fixed the collar of his shirt and straightened his superfluous military jacket before stepping in front of the cameras. Cato watched as one of the camera operators hooked a cord to the computer board by one of the flight managers. He pressed a button with the symbol of a microphone on it. It lit red— _in use_.

 

The televisions lit up as Plutarch’s face was broadcast to all the rebel soldiers and districts alike.

 

“The time is upon us,” Plutarch intoned gravely, his game face on as he perfectly pandered to his audience. “In less than an hour now we will make our final stand. But before that I wanted to show you what justice looks like. To show our enemies just how serious we are.”

 

On his cue the two soldiers pushed the traitor forward. He stumbled over his restraints, but managed to stay upright. Plutarch moved out of the camera’s frame and everyone was treated to a close up of the man’s face. His eyes quavered in fear and sweat pooled at his brows. His mouth was gagged, but his throat worked furiously anyways, the veins on his neck strained as he tried to speak.

 

 “The Capitol has used fear and death as a tool of oppression and manipulation for far too long, but no more!” Plutarch addressed over the intercom to every person in Panem. His voice built rousingly, surely whipping the crowds that gathered before their televisions in the respective districts and the rebel soldiers on the trains to a fever pitch. “Tonight it ends and a new order of peace and prosperity will be ushered in! But first we must exorcise the devils from our midst, starting with the coward assassin.”

 

The Titanium Team cheered loudly to the right of Cato. There was probably more cheering across all of Panem now.

 

Boggs moved before the traitor and read from a slip of paper, “Alabair Steingart, you have been charged with treason, espionage and three counts of murder against the people who sheltered you, fed you and clothed you. For that the sentence is execution by firing squad to be carried out without delay or prejudice.”

 

Cato twisted to look behind him, but Gale had already moved in to block Prim’s view. Johanna moved slightly to lean against Finnick, her face strained and wide eyed. It was something she’d seen before. When he turned to look back the two soldiers and Boggs had their pistols drawn.

 

“On my count. Three… two… ONE.”

 

A rapid succession of gunfire exploded forth. Someone screamed. The assassin, riddled with bullets, flew backwards to the floor dead. The cameraman zoomed in for a close up of his dead eyes before the feed went black. Then it was just Heavensbee’s voice.

 

“Do right by our country. Fight for us Panem and tomorrow may we see a better, brighter day.”

 

A cold sense of realization dawned on Cato. Clarity he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was as if he could see everything perfectly for what it was and where it was all leading. There would always be morally corrupt men and women filled with a greedy lust for power and willing to do anything for it. You killed one and another waited in the wings ready to step forth and fill the void. Cato knew what he had to do. The time for a choice was truly upon him. Peeta had played his card and it was still up in the air if he failed or succeeded, but either way he lost. Cato knew that now and so he made his decision. He never was the hero. So he gathered all the rage and hate, all the violence that had settled in his heart, hardened it, and harnessed it. He felt the frown that was almost a permanent fixture on his face smooth out as a fire bloomed in his eyes and the red returned. He vibrated with a dangerous energy that even Lyme noticed as she cocked her head to the side and eyed him fully.

 

“He’s lying!” Prim hissed. Everyone went rigid behind Cato. He slowly turned his body just enough so that he could see those behind him. Prim was red in the face she was so outraged, all her fear disbanded—a similar fire lit behind her eyes.

 

“He killed Haymitch. He planned this all! He just wants to be in power. To rule all of Panem—“

 

“Prim…” Cato warned. Finnick and Gale stared between Cato and Prim questioningly. Lyme remained facing forward, posture perfect and face blank as if she wasn’t hearing any of this, but Cato knew better.

 

“No, _Cato_. They need to know, now.”

 

“What do you mean?” Johanna asked from the side of her mouth, carefully watching the other team to their right. No one had overheard them yet, everyone involved in their conversations that might be their last before they were dropped into the center of a war.

 

“I _mean_ ,” Prim began again. “That Peeta faked killing Haymitch so the Capitol would believe him a traitor so he could kill Snow. Heavensbee helped, but then murdered Haymitch. I _saw_ it.”

 

Everyone was stunned silent. Cato carefully tracked all the movement around them on the flight deck. Heavensbee was busy at the control monitor with his assistants and Boggs doing last minute coordinating over hologram with Commander Paylor. She seemed to be arguing fiercely with them. To the right the Titanium Team trash talked each other and the Capitol, riling up for a fight. One of them, a gruff looking woman with curly black hair, caught Cato’s eyes and sneered. His eyes flared briefly, unleashing a hint of the fire burning inside him and she looked away, cowed. He then noticed outside the windows beyond her the dark backdrop of mountains in the clear night sky. They truly were at the Capitol’s doorstep. His heart rate increased.

 

“I knew it,” Gale finally spoke. “It all makes sense!” His body sagged with relief, the strap of his rifle slipping from his shoulder and down his arm before he caught it.

 

“Fuck, careful! You’ll kill us all,” Johanna berated Gale.

 

“This, this…” Finnick searched for the words to encapsulate the crush of emotions playing out across his face before righting himself and staring at Prim. “You’re a very brave girl. I think everyone has gravely underestimated your strength. If we succeed today Panem will owe you a huge debt of gratitude.”

 

Prim’s cheeks heated just a fraction under his praise before Johanna broke in again with a heavy dose of reality.

 

“That’s all good and fine, but first we have to find Peeta. He is the only one who can refute Plutarch’s claims. If we don’t before that Titanium team finds him or any one of our allies then everyone’s dead.”

 

Lyme turned around for the first time and her face was stone hard.

 

“We _will_ get to him and we _will_ save him because we must.”

 

The aircraft banked to the right. Suddenly Gale stepped out from behind Finnick and moved towards Cato, his face subdued and his approach tentative. Cato felt the urge return to pummel him, but he quashed it down for the moment.

 

“I know I’ve hurt you and that you probably think the worst things of me…” Gale paused and cracked the smallest of smiles. “Heck if I were you I’d hate my guts too. But it’s time we did something about it and I know there’s one thing we can both agree on. We love Peeta and want to save him. Let’s put aside our differences for now so we can save him.”

 

Looking into those dark cobalt eyes of Gale’s Cato saw for a moment just what Peeta might be attracted to and it gouged at his insides like a cleaver knife before he shook off the feeling and found himself further resolved.

 

“You’re right,” Cato spoke evenly and Gale’s eyes widened. “It is time to do something.”

 

The hovercraft then tipped forward slightly. It was making its descent. Cato turned his back on Gale, on everyone. He made his way towards the control monitor. Boggs was rapidly speaking in to a headset while Plutarch’s assistants flitted about and the flight crew guided the ship towards the city. The windows ahead of him revealed a quickly growing cityscape—so vast and miraculous in its size and glowing city lights it stunned Cato every time he saw it—as they descended into the airspace over the outskirts of the Capitol. He came to a stop before Plutarch and waited for his attention. He got it quickly. Plutarch’s eyes flashed briefly with fear before he masked it.

 

“Yes, Mr. Ryves?”

 

Before he could reply Boggs spoke over the ship’s intercom. Everyone was to get to their battle stations. In t-minus five minutes they would be dropped into the heart of the city. A flurry of activity exploded all around Cato. Then… BOOM! The ship rattled fiercely and a flash of light burst in the night sky, disorienting Cato. A bomb had gone off in the air to their left, startlingly close. Plutarch swiveled to face Boggs.

 

“What the hell is Paylor doing?” He demanded. “She is supposed to protect us from those!”

 

When he turned back to Cato he found him dropped to one knee and his head bowed.

 

“Plutarch Heavensbee,” Another bomb exploded in the air ahead of them and the ship dropped a few hundred feet jarringly, leaving everyone’s stomachs behind. Prim let out a startled scream. The craft evened out and Cato took a deep breath. He touched the rage and pain he had gathered for resolve before he forever sealed his fate. _There will be no turning back now._

 “I pledge my life and allegiance to you and the future of this great country. Tonight the war ends and I will help you achieve it in anyway possible. I am yours, a blunt instrument and honed tool for you to wield however seen fit. Now and forever.”

 

Someone gasped further behind him, but Plutarch responded by wrapping his fingers around Cato’s chin and guiding his head up to look into Plutarch’s eyes. They were narrowed greedily, a self-satisfied smile planted on his wide face.

 

“Perfect.”

 

* * *

 

 

Desperate. That’s what Peeta was. He had scoured every inch, every nook and cranny of the room they were shoved in for a way out, but nothing. And the hour was almost up, Peeta was sure of it.

 

“Come on, Cassy _think_. There has to be a way out of here. Something you saw that might be a weak spot.” Peeta said, desperation rasping his voice as he felt along the dark damp stone walls for something, anything that might supply them salvation. He knew it was useless though he just couldn’t give up. He could not allow Cassy to see that.

 

“I can’t, I don’t…” She trailed off as she began to cry. Peeta knew his frantic behavior was scaring her. He had to calm down. He stopped racing the outskirts of the room and folded Cassy’s delicately small body into his, his nose nestling in her dirtied fire-red locks. They still held the smell of smoke and ash and Peeta wondered if it was the same smoke from the night the Capitol burned her home to the ground—because of his actions.

 

“It’s going to be okay. I promise I will get you out of here.”

 

“Bo—th of us.” Cassy hiccupped. She pulled free of his arms to stare him down, demanding as ever.

 

“Yes... Yes of course.” Peeta averted his eyes to the ceiling. “We’re both getting out of here.”

 

“Cato will save us.”

 

It was said with such unwavering conviction Peeta recoiled impulsively. Her statement rang meaninglessly in the hallow space of his chest. He wished he still had that kind of belief in Cato, but things had changed so drastically since those days of the first Hunger Games—when Peeta believed anything was possible with Cato. Now he wasn’t so sure of the man he was let alone Cato. He hated himself for thinking such a thing, but he knew Cato never wanted any of this, just Peeta. His heroics were always rooted in a self-interested desire to save Peeta for himself. And now… well now he was lashing out. He wanted others to hurt like him. If there was anyone that could jolt Cato back to reality, show him there were things worth fighting for it was Cassadine. But things were so damaged now could he even blame Cato for not trying to save him?

 

Realizing Cassadine was looking to Peeta for a response he stumbled to reply, “Ca—Cato will always—“

 

The walls vibrated with the detonation of a far off blast and Peeta’s words stalled on his lips. Dust and grime fell from the ceiling, filtering through the dim light. Cassadine’s head whipped about in fright, looking for the source of the sound. Peeta knew what it really meant. War had come to the Capitol. Another muffled blast could be heard. The walls shook again and the foundations groaned like an old man trying to stand on his weary bones.

 

“What _is_ that?” Cassy asked frightfully.

 

“That, my darling, is the sound of Peeta’s failure.”

 

Peeta spun around to face the door where President Snow now stood. His face was masked in darkness as the light poured in from the hallway behind him. He was flanked by Peacekeepers, their guns trained on Peeta and Cassy. Peeta should have noticed the pungent odor of roses and blood that now filtered in to the room sooner, maybe he could have attacked. Now he stood quickly and shoved Cassy behind his frame. Snow smiled mockingly at the gesture. He knew it was a pointless one.

 

“You’ve failed me twice now Peeta. First at tempering the spirits of the districts, which I grant you was a considerable exercise in futility but we had to try something didn’t we?”

 

President Snow stepped into the room and the walls vibrated with another blast, but one could be tricked into thinking it was Snow’s presence that had the walls quaking in fear. _What came next now_ , Peeta wondered in fear? His priorities were now permanently altered after finding Cato’s sister. But was her life really more important than saving a whole country? There was no right answer, each choice only led to disaster.

 

“And now you’ve failed such a simple task as killing this child. You’ve done it before. The boy from Ten. We all know this, which signifies to me you never really were ours, were you?”

 

Peeta remained stationary in front of Cassy and defiantly silent, lifting his chin in rebelliousness.

 

“ _Answer me_ ,” Snow growled before being overcome with a cough. He covered his mouth with a handkerchief. When he pulled it away and looked at it something indistinguishable passed over his face, but Peeta couldn’t read it. “We promised, no more pretenses Peeta. I think you’ve been pulling one over us all. Letting us believe the chip still worked when clearly it has no effect over you whatsoever. I must congratulate you on the gambit, but it was unsuccessful, yet again. Guards…”

 

The Peacekeepers marched forward and Peeta tensed, ready to fight and holding Cassy close to his back. He wouldn’t allow them to harm her.

 

“Now Peeta, let’s not try anything foolish and get the girl killed before we have to…” Snow warned and stepped back into the hall, motioning for them to take the lead.

 

The Peacekeepers shoved Peeta forward and Cassy whimpered, latching herself around his waist. Peeta kept one arm carefully planted over her shoulders, hugging her close as they proceeded towards their fate. His mind was numb, the walls of his skull vibrated like the walls of the palace. All options were now up. He could still try to get to the President, they hadn’t cuffed him, but Snow was smarter than that by forcing them to lead and keeping a troop of Peacekeepers between them. Anything he tried was sure suicide.

 

“What must your people think of you, the precious _Mockingjay_ ,” Snow sneered the word from a distance behind Peeta. His heart clenched and he jerked Cassy closer to him as she whimpered. Another explosion rattled the window frames. It seemed closer now. He saw flashes of light explode in the distance in the dark of the city. A fire burned in the distance. He imagined the wretched cries of the innocent as war rained down on the city. Were his loved ones out there? Did they even still love him?

 

“Even if you failed me you still served your purpose, your image is ruined now. What do you think your love Cato must think? Or has your fickle heart forgotten him and moved on to its newest entertainment. What was his name…? _Gale_?” Snow paused to think and let his words sink in for the optimal burn. Peeta wanted nothing more than to twist around and lunge at him. To wrap his fingers around his pale throat and throttle him till his face turned purple and his skin cold. Then his mind flashed to strangling Haymitch and his stomach heaved. Even faking such an action had appalled him.

 

“You know both of you were supposed to die in the Quarter Quell. But I always seem to underestimate your effect on others, how it leads to last minute interventions of luck. I think you’ll find out today your luck has finally run dry.”

 

One of the Peacekeepers jabbed Peeta on the left side with the butt of his gun, forcing Peeta to turn into a closed door. They had reached their destination. The door opened automatically and they were shoved through. It was a command center. People sat in rings around a giant white table, which produced a hologram of the city. It displayed everything. The densely packed streets with towering skyscrapers, where the rebel soldiers were, the hovercraft that carried Plutarch, the base camp in the west where Commander Paylor was labeled. Where there were battles raging. Where Capitol citizens, now homeless refugees as their homes burned, ran to the center of the Capitol. Peeta spotted a cluster of dots close to the heart of the city. They were labeled Victor team. Peeta felt a glimmer of hope before it was dissolved in a sea of acidic fear. _Don’t come here_ , Peeta thought. Plutarch hadn’t given up on him. His friends were coming. They would all die.

 

Dreg stepped in front of Peeta with a vile smile planted on his scarred face. His eyes were filled with a hunger for blood that unsettled Peeta’s stomach more than the war that raged outside the walls of the palace.

 

“I can’t say I’m not disappointed.” Snow spoke as he entered the command center. He was still closely guarded by two brutish Peacekeepers. “You could have put an end to this war with the child’s death. The rebels would have been completely demoralized at the corruption of their precious boy on fire.”

 

Dreg’s grin grew maniacally larger as Snow mocked Peeta. His muscles twitched in anticipation, of what, Peeta could only fathom the worst. The sound of another muffled explosion detonated somewhere outside. The lights flickered, but remained on.

 

“Either way, they shall see you die.” Snow said and snapped his fingers.

 

A group of Peacekeepers converged on Peeta and Cassy.

 

“No!” Peeta shouted and thrashed. He tried to keep his grip on Cassadine as tight as he could. “Don’t let go, don’t let go Cassy!” She let out a high-pitched scream as strong hands looped around her belly and lifted her up. Peeta was propelled forward by the tug, but hands behind him gripped harder and held him back. He twisted and contorted violently as his body was stretched painfully by the tug-of-war. _They can’t have her_!

 

“You can’t have her!” Peeta shouted desperately. “Please! No, just take me. Do what you want with me, but don’t hurt her!”

 

It was useless. No one listened to Peeta as he struggled with all his might in the arms of the Peacekeepers. He was forcefully ripped apart from Cassadine and then they were both carted kicking and screaming from the command center to an adjacent room. President Snow and Dreg followed behind. The room was empty, cleared save for the few chairs that lined the walls, a tray of weapons by the door and a mobile camera that hung from the ceiling. Peeta was shoved into the center of the room. The Peacekeepers then moved to opposing corners of the room.

 

The Peacekeeper that held Cassy forced her into one of the chairs and then stood behind her, hands on her shoulders to keep her firmly planted. Snow took a seat next to her while Dreg took his time at the tray of weapons. His gaze took in all the choices as his hand lovingly stroked across the edge of a sword. A trail of blood was left behind as it sliced the skin of his thumb open. He didn’t even flinch.

 

“Cato was always most proficient with a sword, lets see if he taught you anything.”

 

Dreg turned and threw the sword at Peeta. It clattered to the floor before his feet. He took in the bloodied edge of the blade and its polished silver surface. He managed to catch a distorted reflection of his face for the first time in weeks and was appalled. He didn’t recognize himself. His face was too hardened and scruffy, his blonde hair almost black from dirt and matted to his head with sweat. His blue eyes a dull grey, hopeless. He bent to pick up the sword. When he rose he found Dreg standing before him with a familiarly large iron war hammer. Flashes of pounded flesh and bone swam before Peeta’s eyes. Peeta took a step back.

 

“I thought you’d like this.” Dreg gloated as he took a predatory step forward. “I specifically requested it. Snow was kind enough to oblige. He thought Stasson deserved a second shot at you.”

 

It was like facing off with Stasson all over again on the top of the Cornucopia. Fighting for his life and Cassy’s while death waited patiently all around them for their fall. He needed to clear his mind. He had to pull it together, he—

 

“Begin!” Snow announced and suddenly the camera came to life above Peeta and Dreg charged.

 

* * *

 

 

“GET DOWN!”

 

Flying forward Gale collided with Prim’s back and covered her just as a missile whistled past overhead. It collided the façade of a two-story brick house and detonated. The explosion rocked the ground and Gale rolled from atop Prim. Bits of brick and fiery mortar rained down upon them.

 

“Up, now. Move, move! Take cover ahead on the right under the portico.” Lyme screamed. She was trying desperately to be heard over the chaos of war. Screams of fleeing Capitol citizens echoed throughout the chilly night air along with frequent explosions, war cries and the _pop-pop-pop_ of rapid-fire machine guns. It was chaos.

 

Gale jumped to his feet and yanked Prim up with him. They sprinted after Lyme and Finnick, Johanna hot on their tail. Smoke hung thick in the air and stung his eyes. It would have been hard to see if it weren’t for all the fires that raged lighting their way down the dark streets. His heart pounded in his ears. His blood was like fire as it hurtled through his veins. He was only in the Hunger Games for a few hours and he thought that was some of the worst horror he would ever experience. This was already worse.

 

As soon as they had dropped into the heart of the City they were under gunfire. Peacekeepers lined the roofs of the residential street the hovercraft deposited them at with automatic rifles and sniper guns. They were immediately separated from the Titanium team. One of them was shot through the eye right before Gale, his blood coating the cobblestone street like a fine misting of rain. He felt nauseous, but managed to force down the feelings as his instincts took over.

 

Stay alive.

 

Find Peeta.

 

Save him.

 

Gale still couldn’t grasp it. Peeta wasn’t the traitor—which he never once believed—and Cato now was. Even after everything he knew! Plutarch was nothing more than a more polished, smooth-talking and deceitful Snow, something he never thought possible. And now Cato was up in that hovercraft with him, plotting and aiding him in the destruction of the Capitol. With his help he would usher in a new era of tyranny. Gale was furious and mainly on Peeta’s behalf. He had thought something was off with Cato since they escaped the Quarter Quell, but he had severely underestimated the depths of it. How could he turn his back on Peeta?

 

Everyone regrouped under the portico with Lyme. They all panted harshly trying to catch his or her breath. Gale worried he would never catch it again. He was holding his breath until he found Peeta safe and sound. Only then would he be able to breath again.

 

“The palace is about two klicks north of us.” Lyme motioned behind her back. More gunfire cracked in the distance. A woman screamed. “We’ll use the alley’s behind the houses to make our way there. We’ll move down this street, at the intersection make a right and beeline it straight for the alley between the apartments. Avoid confrontation as much as possible. We need to conserve our ammo. Because once we find Peeta because we’re gonna have to fight our way out of this.”

 

“Same formation?” Finnick asked.

 

“Affirmative.”

 

Gale turned to Johanna, “You okay?”

 

“I’ll be fine. Always am.” She rolled her shoulders and stood tall, staring down Finnick. “Are you?”

 

He didn’t reply.

 

“Okay, let’s move out on my count.”

 

Prim took in a big gulp of air before Lyme hissed move. Gale’s mind had drifted to Peeta—what he might be going through at the moment—when his fear started to overtake him. How could he possibly tell Peeta that Cato sided with the enemy? What if he was already dead? What if they were all killed before they got to him? Thus he was slow to start. Johanna gave his back a shove. He lurched forward and took off after Prim’s back. They were a few meters ahead of them.

 

A group of Capitol civilian families ran through the street, carrying as much of their belongings as their fingers could hold. Suddenly gunfire rang out and they were all gunned down, children included. Their blood leached out into the crevices of the cobblestone and ran down the street towards them.

 

 Then a group of about ten Peacekeepers turned the corner to their street before Gale managed to catch up to the group. Lyme maneuvered quick and efficient her hands practically a blur as the green laser light from her gun took aim at the nearest Peacekeeper. She managed to gun down three of them before her gun jammed. She went to pull out her pistol when two Peacekeepers shot her, multiple in the chest, one to the head. She collapsed to the street dead.

 

“LYME!” Prim screamed. She fired a few shots from her gun, hitting a Peacekeeper and pushing them back. She ran to Lyme and pulled out the medkit. 

 

Finnick roared in anger and charged the men.

 

“Finnick don’t!” Johanna warned.

 

Gale and Johanna then charged too with their green lasers aimed. Finnick fired indiscriminately at the Peacekeepers and then tackled the nearest one. Johanna and Gale took cover behind an abandoned car as a shower of bullets tore after them. They were pinned down while Prim was vulnerable out in the open and Finnick tussled with the Peacekeeper hand-to-hand. They slipped in the blood of the murdered citizens. Finnick had him in a chokehold when the man pulled a knife from his boot and lashed Finnick’s hand then stabbed it into his thigh. Finnick’s ragged scream was like a punch to the gut. Gale knew he had to act fast or they were all dead. More gunfire entered the fray and it was Johanna. She was charging. Gale popped up from behind the car and returned fire, giving her cover. The other Peacekeepers fell fast under Gale and Johanna’s fire. Their white Peacekeeper suits painted red with their blood. But Gale couldn’t shoot the man Finnick fought from this distance with out hitting Finnick. The man withdrew the knife from Finnick’s thigh and he howled. The soldier moved to stab him in the chest. Finnick struggled to hold him off when Johanna sniped him in the back of the head. The man fell lifeless atop Finnick.

 

They rushed to help pull the man off Finnick. Johanna turned to yell for Prim, “Lyme’s dead, help us with—“ But Prim was already there, her fingers stained red and her eyes wide, but ready to help. She immediately set to work bandaging Finnick’s wounds.

 

“We have to get off these main streets, before another troop finds us.” Gale said as he stood amidst the littering of dead bodies. He had never seen so much death and blood not even all the Hunger Games he’d witnessed combined. He swallowed down the bile and fed off the anger that pooled in his chest. He looked up the street towards the alleyway Lyme had mentioned. “There! That’s where we head.”

 

“What about Lyme, we can’t just leave her.” Prim said as she finished bandaging Finnick. Another missile could be heard streaking through the air before exploding nearby. Prim ducked instinctually.

 

“We have to, no other option.” Johanna stated matter of fact. “C’mon, let see if you can stand.”

 

Gale and Johanna positioned on either side of Finnick and pulled him up. When he went to put weight on his right leg he groaned and almost collapsed back to the ground.

 

“Fuck.” Johanna hissed.

 

“I’m sorry, I screwed the mission.” Finnick said shamed. “Just leave me behind. You have to get to Peeta.”

 

“No we’re not going to doing that.” Gale refused. “You didn’t screw anything. We’ll find Peeta and we will get out of here! Commander Paylor is our best chance. I can tell she doesn’t agree with Plutarch taking the Presidency. If we can just get to her with Peeta and explain.”

 

“That’s an awful big if.” Johanna noted.

 

“It’s our only option. I’ll help Finnick walk. The two of you take the lead. You can still shoot, right?”

 

“You bet.” Finnick cracked his knuckles then took up his rifle.

 

“Okay then, lets move.”

 

They had just made it to the mouth of the alley when suddenly televisions lit alive all down the street. They paused in confusion more than anything. Gale looked up and down the streets to see that even the televisions inside the homes were on of their own accord. A wave of trepidation settled over him as he looked to the nearest TV on the street.

 

After a few seconds of nothing but static suddenly an image flickered to life. Prim gasped and Gale felt his stomach drop out from beneath him. Finnick sagged against him.

 

“What the hell?” Johanna cursed, gun aimed and ready.

 

It was Peeta and some other man Gale had never seen before. He was a brute at about six feet tall and well muscled with a jagged scar across his nose. He had the same type of hammer the guy from Four in the last Hunger Games used and he was facing off against Peeta with a sword.

 

The guy charged Peeta with a zealous cry, but he parried to the right skillfully dodging the man’s attack. Then he sliced at his back, only managing to give a superficial cut. Gale could tell it was enough to enrage the man further. He was overly confident in his abilities and probably furious Peeta had landed the first blow. Gale felt proud. That was the Peeta he knew and loved.

 

“You forget, Dreg,” Peeta sneered. “I’ve beat the Hunger Games twice now. What have you done?”

 

“You stupid—ARG!” The man roared and charged Peeta, but he slipped from his grasp at the last minute and landed a slash to his arm.

 

“What is the point of this?” Gale asked, looking to the others for answers. It didn’t make sense. It sounded like the battle itself had stalled as all eyes turned to watch the battle on the television screens.

 

“Maybe Snow doesn’t know Peeta’s already labeled a traitor?” Finnick supplied. “Maybe he thinks by making us watch Peeta die we’ll be so demoralized we’ll quit fighting.”

 

“Then we need to move!” Johanna barked.

 

It sparked the life back into them and they began running down the side streets, but a television was never out of their view. Gale had troubling supporting Finnick’s weight and keeping track of Peeta. They were now dancing around each other, each taking in the other. Then Dreg lunged again. But it was a fake out. Peeta fell for it, stabbing and missing, unable to correct in time as Dreg swung the hammer at Peeta. He just managed to throw up the sword. The hammer connected with the sword in a horrible screech of metal and it shattered. Peeta was now defenseless.

 

The remnants of the Gold Team pushed on, but suddenly found themselves drawn into the battle on the screen, as the stakes grew fiercer. Peeta tried to defend himself with the broken stub of the sword, but it was useless. Dreg proceeded to chase him across the room with unrelenting attacks. The hammer swung to and fro in frightening speed and strength until it connected with one of Peeta’s knuckles and he cried out, the broken sword hilt flying from his grip. Then Dreg kicked Peeta in the chest and he fell to his back, cradling his left hand. Gale couldn’t breath. No one was moving. It was like watching the Hunger Games back in District Twelve all over again. He knew how this ended and he would be forced to watch someone he loved die all over again with out being able to do anything.

 

“KEEP MOVING!” Gale bellowed. He wouldn’t be useless again.

 

The man brought down the hammer on Peeta, but he kicked backward and the hammer landed between his legs. Peeta struggled to push back further away from his pursuer, but Dreg just lifted the hammer and brought it down again. Peeta rolled to the side. Gale could tell Dreg was growing tired of this. He was ready to bring an end to Peeta. Gale’s heart seized up and his running stalled along with everyone else’s as Dreg jumped atop Peeta, holding him down by the thick of his thighs.

 

“There will be no getting away this time.” Dreg growled. “No amount of luck can save you now. There’s no Katniss here to protect you from the Careers, no Cato here to save you from having to kill Stasson or rebels in a hovercraft to save you from the Quarter Quell! It seems with out all your friends you really are just a stupid baker’s boy.”

 

The hammer rose high above Dreg’s head, the iron glinting with an almost palpable thirst for blood. All eyes were riveted to the television, afraid to look away, but unable to watch the ending they knew was coming. The hammer streaked downward when there was a burst of fire and an explosion of rubble before the feed went blank. Everyone turned their heads towards the direction of the palace where a huge explosion sounded and a burst of flames licked the air. A black pillar of smoke now funneled into the night air, the flicker of flames alive inside it.

 

“ _NO_!” Gale howled. He fell to his knees and brought Finnick down with him. The smack of cement against his kneecap’s barely registered as a fissure split open his heart. In the distance before him the black smoke grew thicker and all around him the sounds of war returned.

 

* * *

 

 

The world ripped apart. A blast of fire enveloped the room so hot Peeta felt the hair of his eyebrows singe and his throat go dry as sandpaper. The earth rumbled and everything went black.

 

Consciousness returned quickly to Peeta. The sound of crackling flames and the clatter of rubble falling from the ceiling pricked at Peeta’s ears. He was relieved to still have his hearing after the roar of a detonated missile. Then his senses picked up on a sticky wet substance slickening his hand and warming his stomach. There was also a rather heavy weight atop Peeta. He cracked open his eyes and jerked when he found the lifeless brown eyes of Dreg staring back. Then he remembered. He had got hold of the broken piece of sword and stabbed Dreg in the chest just as the room exploded and the ceiling collapsed atop them. By some miracle Dreg’s body bore the brunt of the fallen rubble. A large wooden beam from the ceiling crushed down on Dreg’s back. Peeta could feel the weight of it slowly crushing Peeta into the floor. His legs were completely pinned by the rubble. He had to get free, the need built in him like an itch in the center of his chest building in infuriating intensity, unable to be scratched. He avoided the dangerous thoughts that lurked in the back of his mind. What it meant that Cassy had been in here when the missile struck.

 

After a deep breath Peeta flattened his hands against Dreg’s chest and gave a push. He barely budged. Peeta tried again and still nothing. His mind began to cloud with panic as it dawned on him he may be trapped. He began to struggle more fiercely, arching his back and pushing up with his elbows planted to the ground and hands firm against Dreg’s lifeless chest. Still nothing worked and the weight only grew heavier. More debris fell from the caved in ceiling by the minute. Who knew how long the structure would hold before this section of the palace collapsed and they were buried?

 

Peeta sniffed and smoke tickled his throat. There was a fire. It crackled and hissed as it ate its way through the rubble like a snake prowling for rodents. Sweat built along his brow. His leg grew numb from the pressure bearing down on him. He pushed with all his might against Dreg’s form, a cry wrenching from his lips at the strain and yet nothing gave. His breathing soon became labored—in and out in short gasps. The weight of Dreg and the beam atop him grew too much. He heard coughing and a groan. Others were alive, but he didn’t dare call out for help. Were they friend or foe? The scale weighed heavily in the latter’s favor.

 

Suddenly there was a large crash and a burst of embers sparked across the air above Peeta. He crushed his eyes shut and braced for another explosion. But nothing happened. Then Peeta realized the weight atop him was a little lighter. Something must have collapsed on the other end of the beam atop Dreg, freeing some of the weight on Peeta’s legs. It wasn’t enough to allow Peeta to move, but then a familiar ghostly pain overcame him in his left leg. He bit his lip to hold back a cry from the throb and road the wave of nausea that accompanied it. Then he opened his eyes and smiled, determined and actually grateful for the loss of his leg. The prosthetic attached to him was twice as strong as Peeta. He could use it to his advantage now. After gathering precious oxygen in his lungs—the smoke only grew heavier in the air above Peeta and the heat harsher behind him—he clenched the muscles in his thigh and drew his knee up. It met heavy resistance against Dreg and the beam atop him, but he managed enough. Then he straightened the leg, kicking out as hard as he could. The mechanic leg collided with whatever blocked in his feet and smashed through it with little resistance. There was the sound of rubble and cement scattering then a rickety groan. A frightened cry familiar to Peeta’s ears rang out in the room followed by Dreg’s body slipping between Peeta’s legs and the beam toppling backwards. Whatever room he had cleared caused the ceiling beam to fall back into the cleared space. Peeta was freed!

 

After accounting for all his limbs and finding no severe injuries, Peeta stood and the wreckage came into full view. The room was destroyed. A gaping hole opened up to the palace grounds to the right of Peeta was completely ablaze—no escape that way. The wall opposing that where Snow and Cassadine had been stood only partially intact and the command center could be seen beyond it, but everything around it was covered in rubble and scorched. The floor above had collapsed in on them. Live wires sparked above Peeta’s head. Broken pipes leaked water. And still dust and chunks of rubble fell down on the room. The smoke turned the room a hazy grey distorted by the flicker of orange flames. Peeta hunched low to the ground, breathing in the clean oxygen that remained and climbed over precarious chunks of cement and wooden beams towards where Cassy had been. She was alive. She had to be. He knew it.

 

“ _Cassy_.” Peeta hissed as he crawled closer to her section. He waited a beat and then one more, his eyes scanning fervently for a revealing streak of red hair, something—anything to lead him to her. Then he heard it: a small whimper. It was Cassy and she was close.

 

“Tell me where you are!” Peeta shouted now, dispensing with caution.

 

“Here, here!” She cried back, muffled by something.

 

Peeta jumped over a large chunk of ceiling with jagged iron rods protruding at hazardous angle and headed towards the pounding sound of Cassy’s fist against whatever had her trapped. He reached the sound to find what looked like an overturned bookcase. It had to have come from the floor above.

 

“Cover your eyes Cassy! I’m going to make a hole.”

 

After giving time to make sure she did as asked Peeta lifted his left leg and brought it down on the structure, smashing through it as if it were nothing more than weak rotted wood. In the palace halls Peeta picked out the distinct sound of gunfire— _pop-pop-pop_. He hurried up and made quick work of the wooden case with his leg until there was a hole wide enough for a single person to fit through. He pulled back, looked through and shouted, “Give me your hand!”

 

It was too dark to see, but he felt a hand grab his and so he heaved. His body strained to pull her weight out of the rubble. He planted his prosthetic against a piece of cement and gave another jerk, this time freeing her. Only the person that jerked out of the hole he created wasn’t Cassadine at all. It was President Snow.

 

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?” Peeta screamed. He lifted Snow and slammed him down atop the large piece of cement ceiling he had climbed over to get here. He kicked with his left leg to break off a piece of jagged pipe and brought it to Snow’s throat. His white beard was already stained red with blood and more dribbled from his mouth as he tried to speak.

 

“No-nothing.”

 

More gunfire cracked within the palace. Screams echoed in through the gaping wall of the palace perimeter.

 

“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!” Peeta roared in Snow’s face. He was so sick of this man and his lies. All he ever did was bring misery and death. He was a sickness, a parasite that thrived on human suffering and Peeta wouldn’t allow it to stand one second longer. He flexed the muscles in his arms and jabbed the rusted pipe further in to the skin of his neck until Snow groaned and a trickle of blood joined the red already in his beard. Peeta noticed now that the smell of roses were finally gone and all that lingered was the smell of blood, hot and coppery. He sneered in disgusted, feeling the muscles of his face twist in unrecognizable hate.

 

“Y-you should Peeta,” Snow coughed out, more blood bubbling up at the corners of his mouth. Peeta was taken aback by his deteriorated state.

 

“Never.”

 

It was done. He would finally end Snow’s reign of terror. Peeta pulled the pipe back and rested it over Snow’s heart. Peeta was no longer playing the part of a broken tribute; he had officially transitioned into the deranged. There was nothing left to ground him. It was all lost to war and fire and death. He thought back on all the lives lost because of the Capitol, because of Snow: Katniss because of the sick games they created to keep the districts in line; Riece because he stood with Peeta in an act of rebellion; Portia because she dared defy the Capitol and turn Peeta into the literal embodiment of the Mockingjay; Beetee because they had tampered with Peeta’s mind; His father… They deserved justice. They deserved more. _And I deserve vengeance._

 

Peeta lifted the jagged pipe and steadied his arm, ready to deliver the final blow. There was another explosion close by that shook the room and loosened more debris from the ceiling down upon them. Anger, hate, the need for retribution, they all coursed through Peeta’s veins like gasoline, unnatural and completely consuming him. The hallow space in his chest craved to be filled—filled with blood and vengeance and death. The fire grew bigger and the smoke heavier as it ate is way across the room. His heart thumped familiarly in his chest like a war drum. _Thwump thwump_. It too demanded blood. Peeta craved it in that moment and nothing else; would never crave something as much as he did this. He looked up at Snow’s ice blue eyes, expecting fear or defiance, or in another world regret for all he had done. He wanted to watch the wretched light fade from his evil eyes. Instead he found laughter. A hand came to rest on Peeta’s shoulder and Peeta bowed his head in shame as all of the fight fled him. It was all over with that one delicate word—“Don’t.”

 

“We promised no more pretenses,” Snow said with a chuckle. “B-before the tour. I have never lied to you. But you have not given me the same courtesy.”

 

Peeta threw the pipe from his hand disgusted by what he had almost done. By killing Snow he would have become what he feared he already was—a killer. The Capitol, Snow, they all tried to make a killer of him, to pervert him and his image. In the games and with the chip they implanted. But this act—thoroughly premeditated and executed with a clear mind—was when they won and he truly lost. He could not do it. He would not become a killer for them or anyone else. The space that had opened inside him since he lost Cato couldn’t be filled by acts of violence.

 

Standing to his feet Peeta turned into Cassy’s small embrace. She was alive and unscathed for the most part aside from the gash to her cheek and the limp in her left leg. He breathed in her musky, smoky scent and out his rage, confusion and hurt. No matter how this ended he finally had found his peace and a way to a clear conscience. He would not let the worst of his impulses dictate his actions. He was no brute.

 

“You were never here for anything but to kill me,” Snow continued, goading almost now. As if he wanted it to all end, sensing how the tide had turned and desperate to reverse its affect. Peeta knew now he could never give him that satisfaction. “Unfortunately you put your trust in the wrong man—“

 

Snow was overcome with another coughing fit, spitting up more blood. There was too much smoke in the room. Peeta could barely keep his eyes open and Cassy grew faint against his side.

 

“What do you mean?” Peeta demanded.

 

“I’m not the real enemy,” Snow spoke slower now. The very skin of his face seizing up like it hurt to even speak. “Heavensbee has always craved power at all costs. He could never get enough. You think he was satisfied with just being head Gamemaker? Or s-some important asset to the _rebellion_?” He sneered the very word, but things were beginning to click in Peeta’s head and he paid no attention to the little digs Snow tried to make on his deathbed. “No, Heavensbee is way too ambitious to ever settle for such a meager consolation prize as gratitude and admiration. _Think_ Peeta. I never had an assassin District 13. Do you think if I did I would have waited all these years until now to kill Coin?”

 

Clenching his jaw Peeta turned away from Snow. He would not allow him to see defeat in Peeta’s eyes. This was Snow’s moment of destruction and he would not turn it around on Peeta. Even as his words rang more true than anything he had ever heard come out of Plutarch Heavensbee’s mouth. The weight of the truth and what it might mean was almost too much. If Cassy weren’t here to fight for it might have finally been enough to snuff his fire. But he had risen above worse. He would again.

 

“You’ve been played my dear child…”

 

“Maybe so,” Peeta relaxed his body and turned back to Snow, crouching over him with a dangerous stare. “But either way _I’m_ walking out of this room alive. You failed Snow. The Capitol has fallen and you’ve lost everything. Now you get to lose your life.”

 

Standing, Peeta straightened his back took Cassy’s hand in his and began to walk away from Snow’s crumpled form on the fallen cement. They worked their way through the smoke, over the debris towards the command center and a way out. At the last minute he turned back to Snow, who was on his side trying to lift himself up to no avail. The fire grew behind him ever more, licking towards him with a hungry roar.

 

“It looks like that fire I started has finally caught up to you.” Peeta smiled serenely as Snow’s icy eyes filled with loathing. “If there is any justice in this world may you suffer even just a fraction of the pain you inflicted on Panem.”

 

“They’ll _kill_ you!” Snow spat before heaving a deep cough. A mist of blood expelled from his lungs and he collapsed onto his back. “They’ll kill both of you and think nothing of it!”

 

“It’s possible. I’ve been told I have a severe martyr complex.” Peeta smiled fondly at the memory of Gale. Then with a shrug he said, “I’m the Mockingjay. I will always do what is needed of me.”

 

And with those last words Peeta turned his back on Snow and never looked back.

 

Once free of the bombed portion of the palace and in its open halls Peeta pieced together what had happened. A contingent of rebel soldiers must have attacked, bombing one portion of the palace as a diversion so they could attack, which was why no one came to help. All the remaining Peacekeeper forces now battled with the rebels in the halls. Gunshots, explosives, and wretched screams echoed through the ornate halls.

 

He carried Cassy in his arms now as her left leg was injured and she couldn’t keep up. He tried to run as fast as he could, desperately searching for an escape. He turned a corner and skidded to a stop.

 

“Look at me, do _not_ look around! Okay?” Peeta warned Cassy. She buried her head in his neck. He could feel the rapid rabbit-like beat of her heart against his chest. He tried to stifle his own.

 

They had just turned upon a hallway littered with dead bodies. Most were Peacekeepers, their white uniforms and the marble floor splattered with blood like someone took a can of red paint to the room and threw it about freely. He quickly reached another hall. To one side they passed a charred doorway with badly burned bodies piled by the entryway. Death and destruction lay at every corner and Peeta was lost. He wanted to head away from the sound of the fighting, but not get lost deeper in the palace. Each turn seemed to bring new horrors.

 

The ground shook from multiple explosions and Peeta lost his balance, slamming into the wall. Cassy fell from his arms and hit the marble floor with a cry. A Peacekeeper sprinted around the corner and saw them. He drew his gun. Peeta pushed off from the wall, reaching down to scoop Cassy up in his arms. He burst through a set of double oak wood doors across from him just as they were riddled with bullets. Cassy screamed in his ear. They were now in an expansive room with high vaulted ceilings, stone pillars and long mahogany wood dinning tables. He sprinted across the lengthy room, his feet barely making a sound as they padded across the rich velvet floor. He heard the doors kick open behind him and Peeta threw Cassy underneath the nearest dining table, diving after her as more bullets spattered across the carpet where he had just been standing.

 

“Crawl that way!” Peeta shouted, pointing towards the opposite end where he could see another set of doors.

 

Her green eyes were alive with terror, but she nodded and set off on her hands and knees between the chairs. Peeta twisted to look back and saw there were multiple sets of feet now moving towards them. His blood coursed fast and hot through his body spiked with adrenaline. It clarified his mind and he kicked out with his foot, knocking a chair over. The feet moving up the line of dinning tables stalled and bullets quickly sprayed the area where the overturned chair lay. With their attention diverted Peeta crawled out the other side and then charged the nearest Peacekeeper, grabbing a large glass pitcher from the table. The man barely had time to swivel to face Peeta before he was on top of him. They slammed to the ground and Peeta smashed the pitcher against his face. Peeta ripped the pistol from his grip and aimed it at the other Peacekeeper. Before he could fire the man spit blood from his mouth and then collapsed to the ground. Standing behind him was a rebel soldier with a blood stained blade in her hand. She had unruly black hair and a silver ribbon adorned to her chest next to the District Thirteen badge.

 

“Oh thank god,” Peeta sighed as relief flooded his system. He lowered the gun as he tried to catch his breath. “Please tell me you’re the rescue party.”

 

The woman smiled crookedly at him. Peeta pushed up on his knee to stand just as her hand twitched and the blade flew across the table towards Peeta. The adrenaline in his system had yet to completely fade and he reacted quickly enough, pivoting to the side. The blade just barely nicked his shoulder, but his hand seized from the pain and the gun fell from his grip.

 

“In here!” The woman shouted before drawing her gun, a green beam of light targeting Peeta’s chest.

 

At the other end of the dining table Cassy jumped up and screamed, “Peeta look out!” The woman fired the gun, but it missed Peeta as she took her eyes off him startled by Cassy’s appearance. Peeta ducked below the table and shouted for Cassy to get down too. She dropped just in time as the woman fired a shot at her. Now re-armed with the pistol Peeta aimed underneath the table and pulled the trigger, shooting out her kneecap. The woman screamed and collapsed to the floor.

 

As Peeta ran to the end of the room to get Cassy three more rebel soldiers burst into the room. Suddenly green dots of laser lights swirled rapidly around the room. Peeta took hold of Cassy’s hand and tried to make it to the opposite door, but the soldiers laser’s honed in on Peeta and opened fire. Peeta barely had enough time to get behind on of the stone pillars before they were riddled with bullets. The rapid _pop-pop_ of their guns sounded like firecrackers being set off and masked the sound of their movements. Cassy was quivering against Peeta, her arms wrapped around his legs. He took a deep breath, then pointed his arm from around the stone pillar and shot blindly at them.

 

“Stop, stop! Peeta shouted. “I’m Peeta Mellark, the Mockingjay! I’m on your side!”

 

More bullets littered the walls in front of him and cracked against the surface of the pillar, loosening dust and chips of stone. Someone laughed over the sound of the gunfire.

 

“You really are a crazy son of a bitch.”

 

“This motherfucking traitor thinks he can play us?”

 

Peeta’s heart raced in his throat practically choking him. They thought he was a traitor. Plutarch really had turned everyone against him. He wasn’t safe anywhere. Maybe if he gave himself up they would let Cassadine live. It might be worth a shot.

 

“If I turn—“

 

Suddenly the bullets stopped whizzing past him. Their sound still echoed across the massive room, but they were pointed in a different direction. Someone cursed and another person screamed in pain before falling silent. Peeta checked around the edge of the pillar. Peacekeepers. He pulled back behind the pillar. Peeta’s breaths came in ragged pants. Peeta ran his shaking hand along the top of Cassy’s hair. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. He nodded it was okay to let go and so she disentangled from him. This was their opportunity. She took his hand and Peeta took a deep breath and held it before he took off towards the doors only a couple feet from them.

 

“Don’t let him get away!” Another shouted.

 

One of the men was closer than Peeta realized and tackled him from the side and knocked Cassy to the ground. The man was lightning fast. He rolled with the tackle and pulled atop Peeta while plucking a dagger from his boot. But before he could bring it down a bullet pierced through his skull and he fell off Peeta sideways, dead.

 

Looking up Peeta saw a Peacekeeper approaching them. Peeta struggled upright, kicking the dead rebel’s legs off his and scrambling in front of Cassy before the Peacekeeper came to a stop before them. Peeta lifted the gun with a shaking hand. He was exhausted and on the verge of being spent. He didn’t know how much more fight he had left in him. But he could still pull the trigger.

 

Except the Peacekeeper held up his hands and shouted through his helmet, “Wait!” His hands continued to lift up to his helmet, undoing the clasps and then he pulled it off revealing a familiar harsh face made of sharp lines and scrutinizing black eyes. It was Darius.

 

A sharp gasp escaped Peeta’s lips and his fingers tightened on the trigger. “You! You stay back! Don’t think I wont pull this trigger!”

 

“Oh my sweet Peeta, I have no doubt you would. But I also know that you need me right now. I’m the only one that knows the way out of here and is willing to tell you.”

 

A more stable and right-minded Peeta might have heeded the voice in the back of his head that told him _no, shoot him. He shot you._ But Peeta also knew Darius was right. He had saved them. He was offering an escape. And so he lowered the gun and Darius offered a hand for Peeta to take. He glared at it and then stood on his own, ignoring the ache he felt in every strained joint.

 

“Take that door there,” Darius pointed at what looked like a normal wall, but upon closer inspection Peeta saw hinges and a latch. “It’s only used by Avoxes. Follow the hall until you reach the kitchens, take a right and you’ll find an exit by the freezer. I’ll mislead the remaining Peacekeepers as to your position so you should be safe.”

 

Peeta stared at him for a moment, unsure if he should trust him. Was he just leading them deeper into the castle? Was it a trap so he could have Peeta to himself again? But something about the way he looked—his dark eyes open and repentant—told Peeta he was different. He was seriously offering Peeta an out. And so he took Cassy’s hand in his and took off towards the hidden door.

 

“Peeta!” Darius called just as Peeta was about to run through the opening. “I nev—never meant to hurt you Peeta and I never would again. _Never_. I… I just wanted you to know that…”

 

There was such sincerity in his voice and dark eyes Peeta felt the urge to believe it. He had just proved himself invaluable in their escape from the palace and the rebels, so Peeta took pity on him. He moved forward and gripped his shoulder, offering a small smile, before running through the door with Cassy and leaving the tainted memory of Darius and all things Capitol far behind him.

 

It seemed impossible that Darius could be trusted, but what he said turned out to be true. They found a door out of the palace by the freezer just like he promised. He hefted Cassy up into his arms and then burst through the door at a sprint. He didn’t know what they would face on the other side of that door, but he figured it was best to hit it at a run.

 

Once through the doors Peeta was bombarded full-force by the sounds of war. Screams and guttural wails, gunfire, and explosions tore through the air and rattled his brain. The smell of gun smoke and blood filled his senses. There was a hovercraft in the distance firing down on the city; it’s bullets shot through the sky towards houses and buildings like shooting stars. The night sky itself was tinged red by fire or maybe all the blood spilt. 

 

“Where do we go?” Cassy asked against Peeta’s cheek. He searched the horizon as he sprinted across the wide-open grounds of the palace. Their best bet was to head for cover in the alley among the buildings directly ahead of him. But beyond that he didn’t know. If the rebels and the Capitol both wanted him dead, then where did safety lie?

 

“I don’t know,” He shook his head and looked around despondently, “But away from here.”

 

A contingent of Peacekeepers came hustling around the corner of the grounds to Peeta’s right, just before he was to reach the opening of the alley. Shots rang out and cracked against the cement of the building to Peeta’s right. He lifted the gun and fired indiscriminately behind him at the white-clad soldiers before jumping into the alley for cover. He pushed his legs to carry them faster, begging his body for just a little more energy.

 

The Peacekeepers boots could be heard against the cobblestone as they closed in on the alley. They alley was bathed in a flickering light from a nearby fire and Peeta caught sight of approaching soldiers from in front of him too. He skidded to a stop.

 

“Shit!”

 

Peeta turned to run back, but one of the Peacekeepers had already reached the mouth of the alley. Peeta fired his gun and the man dove behind a dumpster. Then his gun registered the empty click of his clip. He was out of ammunition. He threw the gun in frustration and put Cassy down.

 

“Look for a door! Any way in!” Peeta shouted.

 

They both moved to opposite sides of the alley in desperation, groping in the shadows for a door or window that would grant them access to one of the buildings. Peeta found a door, but it was locked. He threw the weight of his body against it, but it didn’t budge. Suddenly the brick to the left of his head exploded in bits from a bullet. More Peacekeepers were now charging down the alley. Then more gunfire exploded from the other end of the alley.

 

“Get down!” Peeta shouted as he pressed flat to the ground.

 

Cassy was pressed to the concrete on the other side of the alley from Peeta and quivering in fear. He couldn’t hear anything above the explosive rapid-fire of the automatic weapons that discharged from both ends of the alley. Then another voice shouted over the commotion, “Shield your eyes.”

 

Not being fast enough Peeta caught sight of the light grenade that exploded in front Peacekeepers like bottled lightning. Both they and Peeta were blinded. The gunfire at their end ceased, but the approaching rebels behind Peeta didn’t quit. He rolled on the ground, hands clutched to his eyes. He saw nothing but bursts of stars and black shadows in the forms of people. Then the gunfight ceased. Peeta stumbled to his feet and tripped across to the other side of the alley where Cassy was. He took her in his arms and shielded her. He could here the approach of the other soldiers. The Peacekeepers were all surely dead as they were too.

 

“No, no please, don’t hurt her! You can have me, but don’t hurt the girl!” Peeta begged towards the blurry shadows as they approached. His eyes stung from the flash grenade and unshed tears. The figures stopped moving at his words and an eerie silence fell over the alley. Peeta could hardly breathe. _This can’t be the end. I’ve made it so far!_

 

“Impossible.” Someone gasped.

 

“Peeta!” Another shouted and then Peeta was really confused as someone rushed forward and embraced him.

 

Finally his vision returned to him and he was able to take in the incredulous faces of all his friends as they stared down at him. Prim had her arms wrapped tight around his neck and was efficiently squeezing the life from him.

 

“You’re alive!” She sobbed as Peeta tried to take it all in. “I knew it! I just knew we’d find you.”

 

Scanning the group before him he saw Johanna standing to the side watching the mouth of the alley, her gun gripped tight in her hand. She nodded at Peeta, a small smile biting at the corner of her mouth. Then he saw Finnick beaming wide with his full-toothed grin in Peeta’s direction. Peeta felt a smile pull at his own lips in return. Then he noticed Finnick was injured and leaning for support against Gale.

 

Time stopped and his heart stuttered. All the breath sucked from his lungs. Those brooding cobalt eyes almost so dark they held no color at all latched onto his like a lifeline and Peeta stood, Prim’s arms unceremoniously falling from his arms. Something inside Peeta warmed, offering the subtlest hint of remedy to the scorched earth of his wounded insides.

 

“Peeta…”

 

“Gale—“

 

They both spoke each other’s names at the same time. Peeta couldn’t believe it took him so long, but there it was. All laid bare for him to see in its inevitableness. They took a step towards each other when Peeta remembered.

 

“I didn’t betray you!” He turned to look at everyone. “You’ve got to believe me. Heavensbee tricked everyone—“

 

“Yeah, yeah. As usual we’re way ahead of you.” Johanna dismissed as she counted her ammo and then helped check Prim’s stock for her as she attended to Cassy’s injuries.

 

“He’s seized control of District Thirteen and the rebel army,” Finnick supplied.

 

“I found Haymitch…” Prim offered, stopping bandaging Cassy’s ankle as a shadow flitted across her face. It was then that he noticed there was something different about all of them now that Peeta looked. They’d been through as much as Peeta and had come through the other side changed.  Prim especially. She held an unwavering stare that hinted at a new set of armor she had developed to protect herself. “Heavensbee killed him. But not before I figured out how you worked together to try and trick us so you could get close to Snow.”

 

“What—no. No…” Peeta took a step backwards from everyone. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Not at all. Even when he knew rescue was a fantasy he never imagined it could turn this bad. Peeta knew he should cry, he could feel the unshed tears behind his eyes, but it was now expected. When had death become so routine he no longer cried?

 

“Peeta?” Gale asked hesitantly, handing off Finnick to Johanna as he stepped toward Peeta with an extended hand.

 

“I’m good. I’m fine.” Peeta shook off the loss and refocused on those before him.

 

“And Snow?” Finnick asked.

 

“Please tell me that fucker’s dead?” Johanna’s eyes were more hopeful than he had ever seen on her normally hardened face.

 

“He’s dead.” Peeta said with confidence. He could feel it. A quick check over his shoulder confirmed the whole western portion of the palace was now aflame. He hoped the whole place burned down to the ground.

 

Everyone let out a sigh of relief. Almost everyone…

 

“Wait…” Peeta said as he took stock of those around him and realized one very important person was missing.

 

“Where’s Cato?”

 

All head’s ducked except for Gale who was only a few feet from him. He held Peeta’s eyes with a distressed yet warm embrace. Peeta’s heart seized like a fist had suddenly squeezed it tightly. Before he could hear the news he could not fathom, but always knew possible in the back of his mind a harsh spotlight blared down upon them. Peeta shielded his eyes from the harsh floodlight as the air whipped about them and the whooshing sound of a hovercraft overcame their senses.

 

“Halt! Turn over the traitor.”

 

It was Plutarch Heavensbee’s voice over the loudspeaker from the hovercraft. They were found out.

 

Someone shouted run and Gale dove into action, scooping up Cassy as if she were his own and turning to head towards the northern mouth of the alley. But it was too late. Both openings were now blocked as a contingent of rebel soldiers bore down on them; green lasers from their guns aimed at everyone’s chests. Peeta did not even bother moving. His exhaustion had finally caught up to him. Gale turned back to the group and then found the door Peeta had tried to beat down earlier. He kicked against it. Over and over and over.

 

_Bang, bang, bang_.

 

No one moved to help. No one did anything. They knew what he did not. It was useless.

 

“Gale, stop.” Peeta spoke up.

 

He turned back with wild blue eyes and unruly hair. He resembled the defiant and angry man he knew before they became friends in Twelve, before they were something more…

 

“What? No. No, come on. They can’t have you! We can’t just give up!”

 

“It’s over. Please, let’s face it. We tried.”

 

Peeta moved towards him and rested a hand on his arm. He was just so tired of fighting. Now matter what they did, no matter how many threats they overcame they always came out behind, another just waiting on the horizon to overtake them. He made it through the first Hunger Games impossibly with Cato by his side only to find he was being forced back in with even more impossible odds. They somehow get out of that only to be thrust into the middle of a war, which Peeta thought he could end with the death of Snow only to find the real enemy was Plutarch all along. It never ended.

 

Cassy looked over Gale’s shoulder through her thick red hair at Peeta. She was no longer fearful or desperate, just as exhausted as he felt. Everyone was ready for it to be over. He felt the muscles of Gale’s arm relax slightly as he turned around to face Peeta.

 

“No Peeta, this can’t be it. He can’t win.” Gale sat Cassy down and got right in Peeta’s face, their noses inches apart. His blue eyes held Peeta’s, captivated by the depths of their devotion. “I refuse to lose you again.”

 

“You never had him.”

 

Another voice spoke from behind Peeta, gruffer and colder than he ever remembered. Gale’s eyes locked onto something over Peeta’s head and darkened to the color of coal. He brushed Peeta aside and stood in front of him. Peeta turned and finally took in the site of Cato standing before the extended ladder from the hovercraft. He was alive. But changed. A darkness hung over him like a visible cloud. Peeta barely recognized his face. All emotion was cleansed from it. It reminded Peeta of himself. Of the man he played to get here. It frightened him.

 

“And you never deserved him.” Gale spat back, his fists clenched at his side and his back taut like steel. He looked ready to take on Cato and the whole army of soldiers that now blocked them in from either side. The soldiers to Cato’s left were already detaining Johanna, Finnick and Prim in cuffs. They struggled and one jabbed the butt of his rifle into Finnick’s injured leg. He cursed and fell to his knees. The others quickly fell in line.

 

“Cato! Cato!” Cassadine suddenly chirped. She lunged forward, but several green beams of light landed on her chest and Peeta tore her back, moving in front of her and blocking the targets on her small frame. “Cato it’s me! Cassy! Cato please.”

 

Peeta watched as Cato took in the site of his very own sister and then disregarded her. He felt her shudder as her breath was expelled in a stifled sob. Peeta felt his blood thicken at the transgression.

 

“Hand over the traitor. He must pay for his crimes.” Cato motioned at some soldiers and they moved towards Peeta.

 

Peeta was stunned. Prim and Johanna raged at him from the sidelines. Calling him things like a coward and a puppet. Finnick just bowed his head ashamed.

 

“I won’t let you have him!” Gale shouted and charged Cato. Cato had all the time he wanted to respond before Gale reached him, but he let it happen, like he wanted this fight too. Before Peeta could act two soldiers were upon him. They forced his hands behind his back and cuffed him. He was made to be a spectator to this trading of blows between his lovers. A brutal fist collided with Cato’s face. He rolled with the punch then followed through with one of his own to Gale’s stomach. They pummeled each other with unrelenting fists until Cato picked Gale up by the torso and turned to slam him into the brick wall behind them. Cato spoke something in Gale’s ear and he froze. Then suddenly the crack of a gun reverberated down the alley like a bomb. It sucked all the air from Peeta’s lungs and he watched in horror as Gale slid down the wall to the cobblestone. Cassy began screaming behind Peeta.

 

The soldiers lead Peeta towards Cato who waited patiently by the hovercraft ladder for him. He holstered his gun nonchalantly as if he had done nothing more than dispense of a bothersome fly.

 

Suddenly the life kicked back into Peeta.

 

“No! NO! Gale!” Peeta raged and bucked against the rebels who manhandled him towards Cato.

 

 Johanna frothed at the mouth as furious nonsense poured from her lips. Prim cried. Cassy was cuffed and brought to Finnick’s side. He tried to console her. But she was overcome with grief. When Peeta was brought to Cato his eyes only sought out Gale’s. He found them. He was still alive. Peeta could see dark red stained Gale’s shirt, but he couldn’t see where he’d been shot. Then he was handed over to Cato.

 

The last words Peeta heard were, “Cato _why_?” as Cassy sobbed and they were locked into place by the paralyzing beam of the hovercraft and lifted up into the sky. Peeta could barely stand being next to Cato for the thirty-second ride up to the loading bay. He felt as sick and betrayed as he did the time he woke up in District Thirteen’s medbay to discover he had a mind control device implanted in him. Then for one radical moment he hoped the same had been done to Cato, but that was quickly discredited. He was never a threat to them and they knew that. The Capitol never would have been worried about controlling him. If they controlled Peeta then they did Cato. At least at one time they would have. Now Peeta did not even know the man next to him. He was just another Career.

 

Once free of the gravitational pull of the hovercraft beam Cato took a hard grip on the back of Peeta’s neck and forced him forward. Peeta violently jerked away from Cato’s grip and jumped forward a few paces. His skin crawled where Cato’s fingers had connected with his flesh.

 

“ _Do not touch me._ ”

 

Cato shrugged and then motioned for him to move forward. Peeta did, turning when told and climbing the stairs when asked. They ended on the flight deck after Cato typed a code into the access panel to the right of the automatic doors. Big bay windows offered a dramatic and expansive view of the city before them that on any other occasion would have amazed Peeta. The sun was just beginning to creep up behind the mountains in the horizon; offering dimmed gold light, still held at bay by the oppressive night of war. The city itself was a speckled landscape of burning buildings and destruction. They were alone on this upper deck save for two pilots, Plutarch Heavensbee and two of his assistants standing before them with a triumphant smile planted on each of their faces.

 

Leaving Peeta for the moment Cato moved to stand by Plutarch’s side. He took Cato’s hand in his meaty one and shook it gratefully. Mouthing vibrant words of gratitude.

 

“ _Cato_.” Peeta hissed, a last ditch effort to reach him. “What are you doing? You’re smarter than this. You know I’d never—“

 

“Save it!” Plutarch cut off Peeta. He marched forward and shoved a finger in Peeta’s face. “Your lies wont save you here. The war will end soon now. All of the final pieces have fallen into place. Paylor is at the doorstep of the palace. Snow’s forces are in disarray. You have lost my boy. Let’s not be a poor sport too. Go out with the shred of dignity you have left.”

 

The rage that had been building steadily inside Peeta now since Cato shot Gale finally exploded like a pressure cooker put to the limit and he lunged at Plutarch, slamming his head into Plutarch’s round one. The resulting explosion of pain was offset by the undignified squeal the pig of a man Plutarch let out as he fell backwards. Peeta was about to dive atop of him to stomp on him. To unleash any and all pain he could on the disgusting excuse for a human when he was suddenly yanked back by Boggs. A swift kick to the back of his legs brought him to his knees.

 

“I don’t understand!” Peeta screamed, struggling against Boggs arms that held him down. He looked only at Cato, beseeching common sense to prevail. “He’s the traitor! Not me. Do you really think that little of me now? After everything we’ve been through? After all we’ve suffered and endured? I know I messed up, but despite that all—no matter how much you hate me because of it—you know I’d never betray the people of Panem!”

 

“ENOUGH!” Bellowed Plutarch, now back on his feet. His nose bled profusely.  It dribbled over his chin and stained the collar of his cream shirt. He withdrew a gold handkerchief to hold against it and Peeta felt his skin itch at the sight of it. A stark reminder of how horribly he had been deceived.

 

“I won’t let you spoil my—our victory!” Plutarch sputtered through the handkerchief. “It has been long fought, but it’s finally here.”

 

Shaking angrily, he turned away from Peeta and marched toward the computer board next to one of the pilots. He pressed a red button that lit up and then spoke into the microphone. Cato remained were he stood, unmoved and blank faced. Peeta shook his head in revulsion.

 

“We have captured the traitor Peeta Mellark,” Plutarch announced over the speakers. “He shall be duly and swiftly executed for his crimes. The Mockingjay will pay and in this final act of violence Panem will be reborn anew; better, safer, more equitable. Rejoice in our victory now! For it is truly ours to share in together.”

 

Frantic for an ally Peeta craned his head to look at Boggs only to realize he too understood what was going on here, but either didn’t care or was the ultimate soldier following his orders to the grave. He turned forward again to find Plutarch back before him with a truly insane glint in his malicious eyes.

 

“Boggs, if you will.”

 

He motioned with a hand at them. The coward could not even be bothered to execute Peeta himself. The unlatching of Bogg’s holster chimed loud in Peeta’s ear as a fist cuffed the back of his shirt and dragged him upright. Then cold chills ran up the length Peeta’s spine as he felt the tip of Boggs gun come to rest against his temple. His legs felt weak and he had to force them to keep holding his weight. He wouldn’t be so weak as to need to be held up for his own execution. But he knew his voice was stronger.

 

“You’re just as vile and evil as President Snow.” Peeta gritted out. He would not let Plutarch see him go out begging and weeping. No he would speak his mind like he always did until that final shot rang out. “No worse because you’re dangling hope before the people only to rip it away for your own selfish, greedy goals of power, wealth and comfort. You’re true Capitol trash.”

 

Satisfied, Peeta closed his eyes. He would not look at Cato again. The last thing he wanted on his mind was the image of those that truly loved him. Drawing on the comfort of their faces to carry on with him into the void.

 

“Just do it.” Peeta spoke to Boggs.

 

Bracing for the end Peeta took a deep breath and held close the image of his loved ones. But suddenly there was a growl and he was shoved back into Bogg’s chest as Plutarch darted forward in surprising agility and stole the gun from Bogg’s hand. Peeta opened his eyes to confront up close Plutarch’s raging made face, twisted and warped by his insanity. He forced the gun into the space between Peeta’s brows so hard it dug into his skull and tears welled to the surface of his eyes with out consent.

 

“I’ll do it myself.” Plutarch sneered in Peeta’s face. He was so close he could count the open pores of his pale sweaty skin. “You have no idea what I went through to get here! I had to have control of Thirteen too or just overthrowing Snow’s regime would never have been enough. It wouldn’t keep my rule safe from Coin’s machinations.” His eyes were wide open and twisted as his lips quivered with the insanity of his rant. He was lost in the lunacy of his power trip, jabbing the gun into Peeta’s head until he was lightheaded and fearful that thick finger might slip on the trigger and it would all be over before he realized it. “The things I’ve done… you think you’ll die a hero? A _martyr_? That they’ll remember you? Ha! No, you’ll die a traitor. Your name will be forgotten in a few years, just a vague memory of some boy who was supposed to change their lives and instead let them down. I will be the hero, _me_!”

 

Plutarch leaned back to bark out a laugh, his portly frame jostling with the radical expulsion of air before he honed back in on Peeta with his wicked stare. His finger tensed on the trigger and ever fiber of Peeta’s being tensed, waiting for the darkness to overcome him one final time. This was it.

 

 “I will be the man who saved them from oppression and lead them into a new era! I’ll be more loved than you could imagine. Those backward commoners from the Districts, you give them too much credit. They’ll dote on my every word and follow my every whim. All your friends will be executed. The truth will die with them just like with Haymitch. No one will ever know of our little plot and I, _I_ will forever have the power!”

 

_CRACK!_

 

Peeta screamed. He thought he was ready to go. But he wasn’t, there was so much left for him to do, so many dreams unfulfilled. It wasn’t fair. This life cast upon him was too short and grueling. He thought he would be alone forever. He volunteered for the Hunger Games to escape his wretched life only to finally find the things that truly made it worth living.

 

_CRACK!_

 

More gunfire.

 

Realizing there was a shocking lack of pain and that he could still feel, Peeta opened his eyes. He was the only one standing. Plutarch’s two assistants hid beneath a desk huddled in fear. Boggs lie dead to his right—a bullet through the skull—and Plutarch moaned on the floor. He clutched at his thigh where he had been shot clean through. Peeta’s eyes whipped about for an explanation before landing on Cato’s face—now purpled with a dark bruise from Gale’s fist—as he rose up from a crouch by Plutarch. He held a gun in each fist, one of them the gun Plutarch had seconds ago intended to spray Peeta’s brain across the wall.

 

Peeta was in shock. He couldn’t bring words to his lips. None of it made sense at the moment save for the fact that for some reason Cato had just saved Peeta’s life.

 

“You!” Plutarch seethed from the floor through gritted teeth, clutching his bloodied thigh and choking back whimpers. “ _How could you_? You shall be hung for this too!”

 

But Cato just shook his head. “No I wont.”

 

Then he pointed over his shoulder at the computer board where the two pilots sat frozen in fear, hands in the air. Plutarch face grew pale and he slumped further onto the floor. Peeta didn’t get it.

 

“You never were mine were you?” Plutarch asked all the fight drained from him in defeat.

 

Cato shook his head again, now just the hint of a smile pecking at the corners of his lips. That’s when Peeta saw it. The little red button with a microphone on it was lit up. The speaker system had been on the whole time. Everyone heard. Everyone heard! A laugh bubbled up from Peeta’s chest at the realization before a sudden shrill siren burst in his ears and flashing red lights cut it off.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Multiple missiles are locked on. It’s Commander Paylor’s, she’s going to fire on us!” One of the pilots notified.

 

“Our shields are still inoperable!” The other shouted frantic. The ship began to make a heavy bank to the right as they tried to maneuver through the high-rises of the city.

 

“ _What did you do_?” Plutarch gasped, suddenly wild and alert again. “You’ve gotten us all killed!”

 

“Not all of us.” Cato said and then he holstered his gun and stuck the other in the waistband of his pants before rushing towards Peeta. He quickly undid the cuffs and Peeta let a sigh of relief slip from his lips. Then he looked in Cato’s chocolate eyes and saw all the warmth and emotion that had been missing not a minute before returned. He knew he was safe.

 

“We have to move!”

 

And then they were running for their life. The pilot’s and Plutarch’s two assistants were close on their heels, but as soon as they got through the bay doors Cato shut them and shot out the access code panel, sealing them in. As they ran down the hall the sound of their futile fists pounding against the steel doors faded.

 

“I—I don’t understand.” Peeta panted out as they made a sharp turn and headed down a tight spiral staircase into a long hall lined with marked doors. They passed one marked Engine Room. Another marked Maintenance.

 

“You’re not the only one that can dupe people.” Cato huffed in reply, latching his hand around Peeta’s wrist and tugging him faster. “We don’t have much time. I told him to give us five, now c’mon!”

 

“Told who? What’s happening?” Peeta shouted over the sirens frantic as they entered through a door marked Escape Pods.

 

The room they entered was long and cramped. The right side ceiling was caved in and a mess of exposed wires and bent steel. Every several feet on either side there was a small bay door numerically marked. They raced down the narrow steel platform. Finally they reached the second to last space where the only remaining intact pod was. Cato stood before it, pressed a few buttons on the panel to the left. The door slid open to reveal a single cramped seat. He motioned for Peeta to get in. But Peeta would not budge. He couldn’t. It was only now starting to dawn on him what Cato had done.

 

“N-no.” Peeta took a step back and shook his head fiercely.

 

“ _Yes_.” Cato countered calm and forceful. There was no question about his intentions.

 

“But you had me thinking the worst of you a minute ago and now I just got you back and you know the truth and I know the truth and no, NO! This isn’t how it gets to end.”

 

“You’re getting in that fucking pod.” Cato’s eyes flashed and his strong large hands gripped Peeta’s shoulders and forced him towards the pod. But Peeta slipped free at the last minute and jumped backwards, away from the opening.

 

“ _Please_ Peeta,” Cato begged. His chocolate brown eyes were now brimming with tears and raw emotion the likes of which Peeta hadn’t seen on him since before he turned off all his emotions towards Peeta. “Don’t waste everything I’ve done for you. You’ve saved so many people, my sister included and I’ll owe that debt to you forever. Now please do this for me.”

 

“I can’t let you do this.” Peeta protested.

 

“I made the decision to die for you a long time ago.”

 

“This isn’t the Hunger Games anymore!” Peeta shouted in exasperation. His eyes burned. His throat constricted. Hot tears finally welled up and spilled over his cheeks. There was no holding them back now. Just when he thought there was nothing left to feel or lose he realized there was always something more. He stepped in closer to Cato, feeding on his warmth and strength for the courage to do what Cato asked, but finding he still lacked the resolve. He couldn’t abandon him. He couldn’t turn his back on him again. Cato stepped closer too; looking down into Peeta’s eyes with a love he forgot he could be made to feel by Cato.

 

“I blamed you for all the wrong things.” Cato spoke softly. It was so intimate and quiet that it brought him back to the days when he’d sneak into Peeta’s room at the training center to steal away precious moments together before the games started. “I pushed you to Gale. I know that now. It’s my fault and I accept it. Now let me make amends and do this. Let me try and do the right thing instead of the easy thing. Because hating you, pretending you don’t mean anything to me is impossible. I need to atone for so much—for all this hate I carry in me, for casting those men in the Nut to death, for escalating the war to this point, for losing you.”

 

Shaking his head Peeta moved the final step in so that his cheek was now resting against Cato’s chest. He could hear the way his heart stuttered at the contact and Peeta’s heart ached. He wished he didn’t have that affect on Cato. Maybe if he didn’t he could convince him to take the pod instead. After all it should be the Mockingjay that died for his people.

 

“Stop it. It wasn’t your fault. Their deaths are not on your hands and neither is our broken relationship. It was our fault. We made mistakes together. You don’t get to hold all the blame now.”

 

Strong arms wrapped around Peeta and pulled him closer. He moved his head to look up at Cato, the tears no flowing uninhibited and blurring his vision.

 

“I never meant for—for any of this. I never meant to start a war. I just wanted to show everyone we have a choice how our life turns out. I wanted us to _live._ I didn’t want _this_ to happen—“ Peeta choked on his words. His throat was swollen and raw. He wrapped his arms around Cato’s strong back and tugged him as close as he could, urging this moment to last forever.

 

“Listen, Peeta. They’ll think you’re dead too. You can start over. Escape and have the life you always wanted, no longer burdened with the weight of the nation’s hope squarely on your shoulders. Just take my sister with you. Promise to protect her, l-love her.” Cato broke off and took a shaky breath in. Peeta watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed and looked off above Peeta’s head. “Raise her to be good and kind spirited like you and I know everything will work out. Gale will find you at the crash site. He’ll help you get out of the city. Gale loves you completely and utterly. I can see that now. Everyone can. Love like that is rare, precious, once in a lifetime.” Cato paused and looked back down at Peeta. There was only truth in his eyes and the faint hint of longing, a wish for a second chance in a different time when it might have been he who loved Peeta right. “Don’t squander it. Don’t push him away like I did to you. Because you deserve happiness. You deserve the world and you deserve to live, you _need_ to. It’s still the only thing I know to be true in this fucked up world. That and I love you.”

 

And then Cato leaned down and they were kissing. He pressed his tear soaked lips against Peeta’s and all the fear and doubt, anger and hate, any unnecessary emotion, it all just dissolved away, except for love. It filled him up, quenched his thirst and sated all his need. Cato’s hands reflexively tightened at the base of Peeta’s back, pulling him up and into the embrace as it deepened for just a moment before he released Peeta and stepped back.

 

“I never was a hero Peeta. I’ve fucked up too many times and acted foolishly selfish. I—I never loved you properly, but hopefully this can make up for it. Give you the opportunity to be loved right, the chance at a normal, peaceful life.”

 

“No but don’t you see Cato?” Peeta lifted a hand to wipe the tears from Cato’s face and tenderly stroke the bruise underneath his left eye. His stomach twisted into thorny knots knowing this would be the last time he ever touched Cato. “You are the hero. Right now. And I’ve never loved you more…”

 

Then Peeta stepped into the escape pod and took his seat. He held eye contact with Cato for as long as he could, memorizing every minute detail there was. It would be all he had of left of Cato. He would need it, to carry on with him. Cato gave Peeta one last small smile which would be seared onto his minds eye forever and then the door of the pod cut down like a guillotine, forever severing Cato from his life. Then with a jolt like the ground had dropped out from beneath him he was ejected from the hovercraft.

 

* * *

 

 

The escape pod thrust from the hovercraft with a bursting of its small jet engine before the light flickered out and it fell heavy and fast towards the ground. Behind it a cluster of missiles streaked through the air like a flock of vengeful birds before impacting the side of the hovercraft. The detonation lit up the sky brighter than the rising sun before the craft split apart and rained down on the city like falling stars in the morning sky.

 

Every soldier laid down his weapons. Every refugee, man, woman and child turned their heads up toward the sky and mourned.

 

The war was over.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

**Epilogue** :

 

Five Years Later.

 

The earth was hot and moist against Peeta’s knees. The sun shone down on him from its perch in the afternoon sky, warming his skin and bringing a prickle of sweat to his brow. He hummed a familiar tune—one whose lyrics he no longer cared to remember, but could never forget—as he worked the fertilizer into the soil with his gloved hands. It was pungently fresh, having just been purchased from a neighbor goat farm. The tree required weekly tending, a draw back to its genetic tampering. But he relished in the manual labor and the opportunity to dirty his hands.

 

Things were finally starting to return to normal. A normal not many people ever knew, a better, newer normal. Where one could live in peace, with a future bright and hopeful, not marred by fear, uncertainty, and death. Rebuilding Panem would still continue for the foreseeable future, but enough work had been done that every day wasn’t a constant reminder of the destruction wrought by the Second Rebellion.

 

People had returned to District Twelve, and continued to do so. The population grew weekly. Most of Victors Village stood intact from the bombing by the Capitol. The first people back to Twelve took up residence in them. Two of those original homecomer’s were Gale and Peeta—now known as Riece, but still Peeta to Gale and Cassadine in the privacy of their home. No one seemed to question his striking resemblance to the Mockingjay—Peeta had died his hair brown and made sure to conceal his prosthetic leg in public—but it was not surprising. Everyone was ready to move on. Even though his name and Cato’s had been cleared in the resulting revelation of Plutarch Heavensbee’s corruption, no one wished to be reminded of the war. It was best to move forward. That’s what Peeta did.

 

Victors Village was where the effort to rebuild District Twelve began. They worked outwards, clearing the wreckage and bodies left behind. Then the rebuilding began. It wasn’t what Twelve used to be, but it was better. There was no Seam. No division between the town, those lifted up by the Capitol and all the rest left to squalor. President Paylor had created the government Heavensbee promised. One that was fair and free. Twelve lived in relative prosperity and a peace it had never known. An economy grew from their abundant lumber, the fences that cloistered them in quickly torn down. Travel between the Districts was easy and accessible. They were a unified people instead of segregated and oppressed.

 

Compacting the earth around the base of the tree, the manure thoroughly mixed in, Peeta sat back on his haunches and wiped at his brow. His necklace had fallen out from under his shirt as he worked the dirt. He brought a hand up to finger at the two rings that dangled from the hand-woven sting. The dried out bark was worn smooth to the touch from all the times he fingered them mindlessly over the years. At first it hurt him to have such a reminder dangling so close to his heart. But now it was a memento of something precious and what better place to hang it than over his heart?

 

Cato was gone. For five long years now. The suffocating pain of loss gradually faded over time. Just like Cato had promised Gale found Peeta at the pod crash site. Cato had shot him clean through the left shoulder; he needed no more than some sutures, a bandage and a sling. All of which Prim did for him while they explained to Commander Paylor of the situation, of what Cato had requested of him. He had used the fight as the opportunity to impart his true plans on Gale. Paylor acquiesced after Heavensbee’s true motivations were revealed over the speaker system and regretfully fired her defensive ground missiles on the hovercraft.

 

From there Gale smuggled Cassadine and Peeta out of the Capitol. Cassadine wanted to see her home one last time. So they stopped in Two. There was nothing left but ash. The hulking mass of the Nut no longer loomed over the region. Everything they knew was burned down, destroyed. Peeta remembered kneeling in front of her and taking her small porcelain hands in his.

 

“Now it’s time to rebuild.”

 

And rebuild they did. Brick by brick, day by day, they put their lives back together. Things really started to get better when Finnick and Annie Cresta were married a few years after the war ended. They wanted to wait and give everyone the time to heal and rebuild. Which Peeta was grateful for because it allowed him time to study up on District Four’s marriage traditions so when the time came he officiated the ceremony. It was the first time Peeta felt overcome by a truly celebratory mood. It was also nice to have a day reunited with everyone he cared about. Effie was there. She had been found locked away in a cell below the training center. The effects of the war were most visible on her. She no longer wore outrageously colored hair and outfits, instead living in somber shades of black and grey. Her personality was still bubbly, but subdued, ever on edge. She was the hardest to talk with for Peeta, but he was glad she survived. Johanna was not hard to reconnect with. She was now—begrudgingly as she said—Mayor of Seven, yet she still maintained that spunky nature about her that he loved. Prim and her mother were also in attendance. They never returned to Twelve. The memories they held there too painful. Peeta understood, but he was also tired of running from what he knew to be true. After that they all made sure to take the time to visit each other. No one else could ever truly understand what they had been through. They were the remaining survivors from the Hunger Games, now just a chapter in their country’s brutal history.

 

Prim was now in medical school in the Capitol, learning to become a doctor. Her mother had settled down in Four near the ocean. Something about it soothed her. Cassadine grew up fast too. Now sixteen she had a fierce independent streak that lead her to apply for the new scholastic program created by Paylor’s administer of education, an extended schooling at the new Capitol University. Education was one of President Paylor’s biggest pushes.

 

Before Cassy parted he gifted his portrait of Cato to her as a going away present. He knew she would always come back to visit him, but he wanted to make sure she had something to remember her brother by. He was glad he never destroyed it. The portrait now hung in the small room she shared with another student at the school.

 

Before she left he hugged he close at the train station. She now reached almost eye level with him. She was a tall and beautiful young woman with her flowing red hair and flawless alabaster skin.

 

“You know I’ll come back all the time to visit,” She said exasperated by his display of affection.

 

“I know, I know. You’re always right. Just like you were with Cato. He did save us you know, just like you said. And I know he couldn’t be more proud of the girl you’ve become.”

 

Cassadine’s eyes glassed over for a second and then the train whistled and she leapt forward, leaving a kiss on his cheek and giving a quick hug to Gale before hopping on the train.

 

Sending her off to the Capitol was the hardest thing Peeta had done in years. He had grown to love and care for her as if she were his own sister, just as Cato had requested. It hurt more than he expected to say goodbye to her, even though it wasn’t a real goodbye. He would see her again. But he knew he had completed Cato’s final request when she left to go create her own life in the Capitol and now he wasn’t sure what was left of his life.

 

So Peeta stood and took a step back. The tree that started out only as a small sapling that came to Peeta’s knee a few years ago now stood nearing six feet tall. The vanilla blossoms were now in constant bloom and they sweetened the air of their house and backyard each morning with their fresh blossoms.

 

This was Peeta’s tribute. His very own hanging tree. It was a reminder each day of what it took to get here. What was sacrificed and what was gained. Peeta moved forward to stroke the smooth bark of the tree. It was the same bark as the rings that hung over his heart. They’re love may not have lasted, but it was real. It changed a nation. And he knew he was ready to move on. He lifted the necklace over his head and picked a sturdy branch, tying the necklace around it. He took a small step back to observe the two rings as they swung to and fro in the breeze. If he closed his eyes he could have been transported back to the rooftop of the training center, back to when he first met Cato. Instead he kept his eyes open.

 

The hinges of the door to the back of the house groaned as it opened and shut. Peeta turned from the tree to see Gale coming out. He had a tentative grin on his face and his right hand behind his back. Peeta’s heart gave a small flutter at the sight of that smile, the hint of those white teeth and teasing tongue.

 

What had he been waiting for?

 

Peeta didn’t deserve such a man. He doted on Peeta in everywhere. He was there to pick him up when he fell, to hold him through the night terrors, to push him to be his best self, to wait for him patiently when Peeta would truly return all the love he had to offer.

 

Gale’s family also returned to Twelve and now they were practically his family too. They spent long evenings together cooking out and sharing in each other’s company until the young children had long fallen asleep. In probably the strongest indication of the change of times in regards to attitudes towards being gay, Hazelle pulled Peeta aside one night to give her blessing to their relationship.

 

“At first I may not have understood it, but I see now it’s the same as anyone else’s love. There is no difference. I just want my son to be happy and you make him. That’s all a mother could ask for.”

 

Then she kissed him on the cheek and went back into the living room where Gale was wrestling with his two brothers and Posy squealed in excitement, jumping on the couch cushions. Peeta smiled warmly as he looked on at the familial bliss. This was what they had fought for. This was what everything Peeta had been put through and endured was for. This was exactly what Cato sacrificed himself for, so that life could continue, so that life could flourish with out threat of death and suffering.

 

Over the years Gale and Peeta had grown back together, slowly, but Peeta still found it hard to believe he deserved the happiness Cato wished for him. It held him back from loving Gale completely and he knew Gale knew it. But he never begrudged him or pushed him. He only waited.

 

“What do you have there?” Peeta asked.

 

His smile only got bigger as he made his way towards Peeta. It drew Peeta in intrinsically, his feet moving of their own accord towards Gale until they met at the halfway point between the house and the tree. The bridge between their hearts was still connected, Peeta could feel it, the pull between them; the urge to cross it and let their hearts connect. Yet still he had held back all these years.

 

“Hold out your hand and close your eyes.”

 

Stifling his curiosity Peeta did as asked. His hand hung in the air before him, the sun beating down on his back. A bead of sweat ran down the length of his spine. He heard the earth around Gale’s feet crunch as he stepped closer. The tips of Peeta’s fingers just barely grazed the fabric of Gale’s shirt. An earthy smell of evergreen—Gale’s smell—mixed with the scent of vanilla overtook his senses. His two favorite smells mingled. They could coexist, Peeta realized. One didn’t have to replace the other. Then Peeta’s hand dropped with the weight of Gale’s pressing against it. The touch was almost sensual, but over too quick. A small, cool metal object was left in his palm.

 

“Open them,” Gale whispered in Peeta’s ear.

 

Peeta’s eyes snapped open. Gale’s face was right before his, but pulling back. Peeta yearned to stop it, but his eyes fell to his palm instead, searching to discover what the object was he held.

 

“Gale…” The breath was almost knocked out of him at the discovery. “How’d you find it?”

 

“It took me a long time, but I had some help from a friend in Thirteen. He kept an eye out for it.” Gale explained, unable to contain his hopeful smile.

 

            It was the gold mockingjay pin. The very same one gifted to him by Riece. The one he wore through both Hunger Games and inspired the moniker given to him by a rebellion he ignited. He thought it was lost forever. The last time he saw it was in his dorm in Thirteen before the bombing. Peeta felt something stirring in his chest. Something unfamiliar and yet intimately known. His mind buzzed like a swarm of summer cicadas as he traced the image of the mockingjay with the pad of his thumb. The design so familiar he could draw it in his sleep.

 

“Here, let me.” Gale said. He softly plucked the pin from Peeta’s hand again and then lifted it to Peeta’s chest where he carefully pinned it. “Back where it belongs… I hope that’s okay?”

 

He watched Peeta inquisitively, chewing on his full bottom lip. His eyes searched out for a sign of some sort that Peeta was not in fact okay with the liberties he took to get the pin back, maybe even waiting for Peeta to break and fall apart. But Peeta was more than okay with it.

 

“I love you,” Peeta gasped out. His eyes widened and he looked up into Gale’s eyes, almost cerulean from the sunlight, shocked. Gale was shocked too. But then his face transformed before Peeta’s very eyes as a true smile stretched itself across his chiseled jaw.

 

“I—I’m sorry it’s taken me so long.”

 

Gale stepped forward suddenly, their chests bumping. “Don’t be. Even a piece of your love is enough for me. That will always be enough.”

 

“You don’t just have a piece. You have it all.” As Peeta said it, he knew it was the truth. There was no more denying it. No more hesitation or putting it off because of a debt he thought he owed Cato, Cassy or Panem.

 

Gale stared down at Peeta’s face heatedly, taking a small step forward. It was barely noticeable, but his presence swelled around Peeta, welling up and over him like a crashing wave soaking him to his core. He could feel his cheeks flushing with the look as something settled in his heart. The space that had opened up all those years ago in his chest was suddenly—finally—gone, closed, and with out it he felt infinitely lighter and yet more full. He was whole again. It was like finally coming home. He had always been trying to leave this place. Always trying to escape. To find somewhere better, anew home. What he didn’t realize was home was always here. With _him_. Peeta finally allowed himself to cross that bridge between them and to let their hearts connect.

 

“Kiss me.” Gale requested.

 

Peeta’s eyes swept up from Gale’s full lips over his face and to his blue eyes. That was when he truly understood how much he was loved. He could get used to that.

 

“Okay.” He smiled a genuine, lighthearted smile and then leaned in.

 

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that’s it. We have finally reached the end of our journey. It was an epic and unexpected one I’d say. I never expected it to grow so big. I’m glad I was able to finally finish it. As always, your reviews mean the world to me. I’m sure this ending will be polarizing, but I’m ready to hear what you have to say.
> 
> I know some of you will probably hate this, others may love it, but I think the quote I used to start this story by Anais Nin really set the tone and kind of blatantly foreshadowed where this tory was going to end. I wanted to play with the conventions of your typical fanfiction romance story and do something different where the hero of the story ends up with someone else, even though this started as a Peeto pairing. I know most people read these stories for the pairing, I know I do, but i also felt like just because it started as one pairing doesn't mean that is how one is obligated to end the story. First loves don't always work out and who knows, maybe even Peeta and Gale wont, your allowed to make up your own mind on how their future plays out. But Peeta will always be connected to Cato, he will still be his first everything and that can never be taken away. Sadly as this story came together while I was plotting it out I discovered how truly damaged and broken they were together and it couldn't last no matter how strong their love was. That's why I really liked what Cato said to Peeta back in chapter 22, "Sometimes love isn't enough to salvage what can't be fixed." I think it's a truth he stumbled on by accident and it may not be the happiest, but it is true to real life. The power of love is great and beautiful, but I do think it gets put on this pedestal and really love is just as fickle an emotion as anything else. But you could see with Gale and Peeta's relationship what love is capable of. It repaired them and truly healed them. So even in this tragic ending I think it still ends on a positive note of hope and love and I do hope you come to see that too.
> 
> Anyways, thanks for listening to my rambling note. I love you all and your continued support means everything!


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